


My Cryo Sleeping Beauty

by thefandomsinhalor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Space, Anal Sex, Bath Sex, Cryogenics, Denial, Flirting, Gabriel is the narrator, Humor, Hunted, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Public Nudity, Science Fiction, Torture, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 09:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefandomsinhalor/pseuds/thefandomsinhalor
Summary: Let me tell you a story about two adorable, yet frustrating, knuckleheads in love. We got Dean Winchester of Venandi, who wakes up on an unknown spaceship with a half-naked man in his arms, and no memory of how this happened.Cuddling him oh-so lovingly, we have, fresh out of cryo sleep, prisoner James Novak, who is equally confused about his whereabouts and to find Dean sharing a bed with him.Now, prisoner Novak is really Castiel, an old acquaintance of Dean’s and his real identity appears to be only known by Dean. That’s when the mercenary Henriksen, doing Empress Amara’s bidding, stumbles upon them and crashes their little (freak out) moment.While dealing with Castiel’s mysterious past and Dean’s personal and urgent quest, they have no choice but to work side by side as they banter away to escape from everyone’s clutches and find out what really happened.I know you might be skeptical. People often ask me, “How in all the stars do you possibly know all of this, Gabe?”The answer is very simple: I’m part of the story! I witnessed first hand their tribulations and lovey-dovey looks.Well, some part of it. As for the rest…Well I’m all about tall tales.





	1. Wake Up, Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So this is my second fic for the Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2019. I wasn’t planning on writing two, or even in this genre, but when the mods (who were amazing btw) mentioned that there would be a second round of claim, well, I couldn’t help myself.  
AND I had so much fun writing this. I hope it shows.  
It’s very different than my other fics, and a nice contrast to my other work in this challenge. So I’m really happy I got to do this.  
Hope you enjoy it!

Here’s the thing.

I know Dean keeps telling to everyone who will listen that, when he woke up on that infamous day where our story begins, he wasn’t exactly what you might call a happy space camper.

According to him, he was a super pissed-space camper.

And while I can’t deny that he used to spend most of his waking hours grunting out of anger back in those days, certainly on the ones that followed this particular morning, I have to put my foot down and call him on his bullshit, too.

The truth is that Dean wasn’t angry when he woke up. Don’t worry. I’m still talking about Dean. Irritation is his second nature. He was still pissed for the rest of the day.

But not when he _woke __up_.

It was actually the opposite, if you allow me to say so, and that’s a relevant distinction.

The first thing that popped up in Dean’s mind when he was slowly waking up was how fuzzy and mellow he felt. And warm.

And something was keeping him warm.

And that something was pulling itself closer and closer to him.

As if it was desperately reaching out for his body warmth.

And Dean liked it.

Instinctively, he wrapped himself around it as if to protect it and keep it all to himself.

He felt soft fingertips on his waist. A small breath against his chest. Thick, yet soft hair under his chin as that something—_someone_—was burying their face in his neck.

Still not fully awake and not sure of what exactly he was doing, he slid his hand down whoever’s spine in a very gentle manner. Some would call it tenderly. He felt the urge to kiss the soft skin he was touching and pressed himself tighter against whoever he was embracing.

The body quivered in response to Dean’s compelling invitation.

And a deep moan followed.

Dean opened his eyes, smiling like an idiot in pie land.

It took him a moment.

He’s a bit slow in the morning.

It’s okay, we still love him.

And then, this is where it got awkward.

Lord Dean Winchester, the confused bastard that he is, finally realized what he was doing and got a good look of whose butt he was about to squeeze.

I’m not gonna lie. He fucking freaked when it hit him that he was curled up against a half-naked man.

If he hadn’t been worried about the peculiarities of the situation such as:

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Where the hell am I?”

“How did I get here?”

I think he would have acknowledged the fact that his mind also went to:

“Goodness, how am I so lucky to have woken up next to an individual with stunning blue eyes, a hot and muscular body, and skin so soft that it makes me want to lick it?”

Not that I want to follow through with objectification and all, because that would be super weird, but that’s what he thought. Hot. And. Muscular.

If you ask him today, he won’t admit it, but I know these things, and that’s what he thought in that moment.

Also, I think it’s very important to mention that in the middle of his crisis, he also had a massive boner.

There. I said it.

Moving on.

With his bunkmate now awake, they stared at each other, holding their breaths, and waiting for the other one to say something.

But before either of them even had the chance to utter a word and perhaps explain what was going on, they heard someone say, “Ugh. I told you not to move. You woke them up, idiot.”

“They we’re already awake,” protested someone else, vexed at the accusation.

About to burst, Dean frantically tried to get himself out of bed to assess what in all the stars was going on.

But that was unnecessary as another set of hands immediately seized him and dragged him to his feet.

Now, Dean was really flipping his shit. He looked around, panicking like a panicking bitch.

He had no idea where he was. He had no idea how he had gotten there. He had no idea who was restraining him. Or why they were restraining him.

The one thing he knew though was the identity of the perfectly formed, gorgeous man he had been snuggled up with a moment ago.

And that was Castiel. An old acquaintance. And that was when the anger started kicking in.

He didn’t even know what kind of stupidity the day would bring him yet—and it would be ludicrously stupid at that—but he was already pretty fucking mad.

But…I’ll get back to that later.

So, as I was saying, Dean was freaking out. Loudly.

Now, Castiel, unlike Lord Dean, wasn’t freaking out as much. He was just plain confused. His head was killing him. He felt heavy and slow, as if someone had beaten the bejesus out of him. Every body part was hurting, from his eyebrows, down to his groin. But that last one might have been for another reason.

He had also been pulled from bed and was trying to free himself from his captors as well, but without success.

Castiel’s legs were failing him, and soon his captors were holding him up more to help him stand rather than keeping him grounded.

That’s when Dean noticed, with lingering eyes, Castiel’s tattoos on his torso. A detail he didn’t remember from before.

With his eyes glued to his bunkmate’s rock hard abs, for science I’m sure, Dean unfortunately missed the big entrance of a tall and armed, yet elegant man—despite wearing dark combat attire—waltzing in after the rest of his crew had seized them.

That someone was a smug prick named Victor Henriksen.

“Dean, Dean, Dean.” He stood an inch from Dean’s face. “Must be my birthday.”

“Ugh, shit. No, not you.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What the fuck do you want? What is this? Where am I?”

“_Where am I_?” he repeated, laughing. “Pretending? Really?”

“I’m not pretending, asshole. I don’t know how I got here.”

“Sure. Okay. You don’t know. Well, it doesn’t really matter now, because I got you. I think you know why?”

Dean let out a massive amount of swearing that impressed even me. “You’re Amara’s bitch, now?” Dean asked. “I hope you don’t see this as a promotion, because trust me when I say this: it ain’t.”

Henriksen chuckled. He was pretty much gloating too. “The only one who’s somebody’s bitch here is _you_.”

“I am _not _Amara’s bitch.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about her, though technically, you are. But I was actually talking about him,” he said, pointing at Castiel. Henriksen left Dean’s side and approached Castiel who was still struggling to stand properly on his feet. “Who’s your friend, Dean?” 

Dean remained silent.

“I’m surprised you have a friend. Not usually your style. Although, I’ve met Nick,” said Henriksen, grinning at Dean. “Man, he was a chatty one.” Dean groaned. “But this one here, now that I didn’t see coming.” Henriksen examined Castiel closely.

It is also important to note that Castiel was bare chested. And sweaty. I know I mentioned it before, but I believe it is necessary to mention it again. Just, it needed to be said.

His eyes still on Castiel, Henriksen extended his arm and one of his men handed him a piece of equipment. He pushed Castiel’s head to the side, thus revealing a tag implanted in his neck. “So, who do we have here?” he said, and after one quick swipe with the gear, he let go of Castiel, examining the data on his screen. “Prisoner 4010918. James Novak.”

Dean frowned. None of what Henriksen had just said made sense to Dean. Henriksen took another glance at Castiel and walked back to Dean.

“Prisoner 4010918. James Novak,” he repeated slowly. “That’s who you’re the bitch of.”

Castiel might have been unable to stand on his own, but he certainly was able to find the hilarity of this situation, as he let out a short, but distinct laugh.

That was a little too much to ask of Dean, however. He stared at Henriksen, fuming and still not understanding anything.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Henriksen rolled his eyes and turned to his men on his left. “Show him. I think he needs a visual aid.”

The next thing Dean knew, an archive clip was projected on the wall depicting Dean and Castiel snuggled up, half-naked, limbs interlocked on one tiny bed.

Basically, what they had just woken up to.

That being said, waking up to it and seeing it plastered on the wall was probably a whole new level of realization.

Henriksen looked at Dean with a wide smile.

“We were sleeping, you dumbass. As in a massive nap,” he said, defensively.

Henriksen titled his head, zooming in on the footage. “Looks like a cozy nap too. Isn’t that your arm wrapped around him? Your leg too. His face is buried in your neck. That’s a little more than a nap. I would call this cuddling. For starters.”

Dean swallowed. “We were still just sleeping.”

Henriksen nodded, as his grin grew wider still. “True. If we go back further than that, we might get more interesting stuff. I mean, how can it not be?” he said, pointing at the frame. “The thing, though, is that we don’t really need to, because just that there—that one frame—that’s enough. That’s the money shot. You see, Dean, as you correctly guessed earlier, I’m here on behalf of Empress Amara. She summoned you, and like a capricious little boy, you said ‘No’ and ran away. She’s not happy. So, now I have the shitty job of tracking your ass down. It’s been my job for a while now. All this pointless chasing you around to bring you back to her…I nearly went nuts.” He turned to one of his men. “Tell him, Lee, how I nearly went nuts.”

“He nearly went nuts.”

Henriksen went back to Dean, nodding with wide eyes. “But the thing is that I knew that even when I’d find you and brought you back to her, I also had to make sure you’d stay there. Ergo: this pretty little picture.”

“What the fuck does that do?”

“Right, you still don’t get it, because you don’t—okay, so just to catch you up. First off, you’re on Purgatory7172.”

Dean flinched.

“Which is a prisoner cargo ship, of all things.”

Dean, still confused, knew at the very least now just how deep in shit he was.

“I have no idea how you got here. I’m sure that’s quite a story.”

Henriksen nodded to one of his men. He typed hurriedly on the command panel by the door, and what appeared to be the registry of the ship was projected in front of them, next to the image of Castiel and Dean. “But the thing is that this particular ship was transporting…” he said, scrolling down the registry, “327 prisoners. All in cryo pods.”

“Wait, what? Cryo?”

“Yup. That’s how sick those puppies were. And now, those sick puppies have run away. All gone. No idea where they went. Or how they left. Or where the rest of the crew is. The only thing left on the ship was you two,” he said, pointing at the bunk, “and a dead alien back on the bridge.” Dean’s heart was racing, and he shot a worried look at Castiel, hoping for a silent explanation. Castiel was still struggling to stand on his feet, and unfortunately his facial expression didn’t offer any signs of agreement or rejection regarding Henriksen’s statement, but rather just that he was in deep physical pain.

That’s when a little light bulb turned on in Dean’s brain. He finally understood why Castiel was so sluggish: he was suffering some of the side effects of cryo sleep.

Which, evidently, meant that what Henriksen had said so far, was the truth.

Which meant very bad news for both of them.

And regrettably for those two beans, Henriksen wasn’t done sharing the bad news.

“Like I said, I could check for additional footage, but oops,” he said as he typed something. “It’s all gone. This,” he said, pointing at the image of Castiel and Dean, “is the only thing left in the record. Lord Dean Winchester, from goddamn Venandi itself, slumming it away half-naked, in bed with a prisoner fresh out of cryo—yeah, we all know these shitheads are serious—and all that on a prisoner cargo ship, which is co-owned by three different federations, none of which are Venandi. And the crew and prisoners alike are missing. And one dead alien.”

So yeah, this fucker was smug as fuck now. And the boys were beyond screwed.

“Tell me, Dean. If I release this footage with those facts attached to it, what sort of conclusion are people supposed to make from this? All I have to do is press one button and it’s out. I mean, people are already kind of icky about you, considering your family issue…”

Dean clenched his jaw and tightened his fists, with eyes ready to commit murder.

And, honestly, I support this, because fuck that guy.

“If this comes out,” said Henriksen, shaking his head and smiling widely as ever, “ain’t nobody who’s gonna help you then. Only one place, one person would accept you and help you against this. And the good news is that for some dumb reason, she demands you at her side.”

“Henriksen, don’t—it’s not like—”

Henriksen pressed on it. “Oops. I swear, my hand slipped.”

“You fucking asshole.”

“Looks like you don’t have a choice.” Dean tried to free himself as he was screaming at Henriksen, but it was pointless. I’ll be super fair and say that Henriksen’s goons were also ridiculously strong. “Gag them and bring them to our ship. We’ll need to report and schedule for a portal on the next planet over to get to Tenebra. We’re too far off here. We’ll decide what to do with this one over there. His tracker doesn’t work, but I can still read the tag. I’m sure we’ll have options.” And after one last look at Castiel, he said, “Facilities with cryo sleep patients often have a room to store personal items. Someone should check if Mr. Novak had any. It might give us a clue of who he is.”

So they got manhandled away from their love nest.

Stubborn Dean-o fought like hell, but it was no use. Soon he got hit on his melon and it hurt and he got carried away down the hallway. From what he could see, glimpses of chamber after chamber, as he was literally dragged on the cold and wet floor, the place was indeed empty. And given the million stupid little lights blinking, loud alarms screaming, vapor coming out of those pods, and a shit tone of a water on the floor, it was safe to say that whoever crawled out of those pods hadn’t woken up that long ago.

Then they reached a point where the stream turned red.

That meant some people had gotten big boo-boos.

But still not one single body in sight.

And now it might be the time to point out that as high tech and super swell as cryo sleep sounds like, it isn’t.

Cryo sleep might have been the rage once upon a time, but in last the few decades, namely due to technical problems, and um, fraud, only fools and desperate people trusted such a procedure. Most organizations that still practice cryo sleep are shady as fuck and unless you had really good money and you out-of-this-galaxy trusted the manufacturer, no one bothered with them. Well, no one who could afford to not bother with them. And this is why they were mostly used to store prisoners who some federations didn’t know what to do with them.

Like I said, shady.

As you can see right now.

Returning to the boys’ misadventures, they left the cargo ship and boarded Henriksen’s ship, where Castiel and Dean got tossed aside, right onto the floor like a pair of old socks.

They didn’t say much. I mean, they couldn’t anyway, as they were gagged, but they didn’t do much to acknowledge one another, I should say.

The rest of the team came on board, carrying a case.

It turned out that they did find Castiel’s personal items. It didn’t tell them much, however. No. Simply what he had been wearing and carrying when he had been put to sleep. A ruddy old trench coat. A sharp peculiar blade. And a breastplate with faint blue and golden rim, which had definitely seen better days.

Henriksen and his men examined it for a moment and looked questioningly at Castiel. He then simply dropped the lot on the ground, not far from where Dean and Castiel were.

Dean was furious. He didn’t like to be trapped. He was angry at the situation.

He was angry with Amara.

He was angry with Henriksen for being such a dick.

He was angry with Castiel for being there and also looking gorgeous and not doing anything about the situation.

Dean was angry with himself too. Okay, he was mainly mad at himself. I mean, this is Dean we’re talking about. The dude has issues.

What irritated Dean the most, on the other hand, was that he couldn’t believe he had found himself in this ridiculous situation when there was a bunch of other stuff, which really needed his attention and that he should be doing.

But no. There he was. Being kidnapped. Dragged. Blackmailed. And branded a criminal.

The next planet on their path was called Mora. Meh, there wasn’t much going on there. That planet was mainly used as a pit stop, so to speak. They really had found themselves at the edge of anything acceptable. Anything further down, and well, you’re really asking for trouble. Or boredom.

Which begged the question what on earth was Purgatory7172 doing there in the first place, thought Dean.

As they were landing on Mora, Henriksen’s men pulled Castiel and Dean to their feet and lined them up.

“All right. You know the drill,” he said to his men. “Primary team with me. We just need to report and set up a portal. Secondary team, guard duty.”

Most of Henriksen’s men left with him to do their business, leaving only five guys on the ship with Castiel and Dean.

To watch them both.

You know where I’m going with this.

One of them was bullshitting Dean because he was a dweeb.

Another one was looking dutifully at the monitor, being the good student who does the assignment and ignores everything else stupid that the other people are doing or saying.

Then there was the other one who pretended to work, but really wasn’t. That particular one was way too busy looking at Castiel’s butt for that.

One of them was just flat out taking a nap in the middle of all of it and gave zero shits about it.

And the last one was barking orders, making himself feel important, as if he had any idea what the fuck was going on.

He didn’t.

He started poking around at Dean too, just like the first idiot, and making fun of him. And then moved on to Castiel and said something offensive that really doesn’t need to be repeated here. If that wasn’t bad enough, he then got inspired by the muse of stupidity and started pokingaround Castiel’s things, and the next thing he knew—oops his head was abruptly meeting the floor and someone was stepping on his back.

The guy who had been actually doing the work froze in shock, while the bullshitter jumped on Castiel and the faker tried to grab him. One got an arm broken and the other was soon whimpering on the floor.

Castiel approached the studious one, showed him his bound hands and pointed at his face.

With no hesitation, but trembling all over, the guy freed him from his gag.

“Him too,” said Castiel, pointing at Dean.

Dean was stunned. The only reason why his jaw wasn’t hitting the floor was because it physically couldn’t.

The instant the guy freed Dean, Castiel grabbed one of the instruments on the tables and zapped him. The guy yelled out and hit the floor.

The nap guy was still napping.

And Dean and Castiel were left staring at each other. Finally able to say something to each other. Privately. Ish.

“Are you okay?”

Castiel took one step in Dean’s direction.

And Dean took three steps back, harboring an anxious face.

“Dean?” Castiel asked in a gentle voice that made Dean re-question all his life choices.

And then my brother said, “It’s okay, we’re safe,” in his super smooth, low voice. The one he uses when he’s trying to be subtle but miserably failing at it, and holy shit, I just realized I just spilled something.

Damn it. Fine. Yes, Castiel is my little bro.

But that’s not what’s important right now.

The point I was trying to make is that Castiel was clearly desperate to reassure Dean that no one, even him, would bring him any harm.

Remaining still, they studied each other for a hot second.

Many things needed to be said. Many things should have been said a long time ago. But given the situation, after staring longingly at each other, like the dumdums that they were, they finally judged that perhaps they should first leave the premises.

“Not that I trust you for one second, but want to get the fuck out of here?” said Dean, making sure to stay right in his spot and keeping his distance from his companion.

“My thoughts exactly.”

They briefly woke up nap guy, asked him a few questions about Henriksen and the ship, and then zapped him too. They chucked him and the others over board, and urgently started the engines in order to get the fuck off that planet asap.

Pushing a million buttons, the ship lit up.

Which was a massive victory and a big satisfying ‘Fuck you’ to Henriksen.

But, right after, there was a general public announcement alert on the monitor showing them both.

Their mug shots and identification. A false one for Castiel. Duh.

And of course, Henriksen’s souvenir still of Castiel and Dean cuddling, with the words “Criminal Lovers Wanted.”

Which, I think, really added to the scene being depicted as a whole.

“Mother fucker. Henriksen, really? What the shit?”

And then Castiel, who, unlike Dean, was absolutely composed and wanted to ask the real questions, said, “Do you always sleep that peacefully all the time?”

Dean didn’t know what to do.

They were, literally, royally fucked.

Listen, I know a lot people might have told you that this is a tale of epic bravery. How they stood up for justice and all that.

And it is.

But I think it would be a gross overview to see it simply as that.

That’s not the story I chose to see here.

Because it isn’t.

To me, this story is, above and beyond everything else, about two idiots in love.

They just happened to be kicking ass doing it.


	2. What Now

What the fuck are we supposed to do now?”

“We? I’m included in this decision? Good to know,” said Castiel, no longer using an amused tone.

Dean let out a deep sigh of exasperation.

“Well, if you are truly asking for my input, then I say it depends on how badly you want to remedy this situation,” continued Castiel. “We could obviously do nothing and then be hunted down. Or we could try to find out who did this and why. I can’t promise it will change anything in the end, but that option is the most hopeful one.”

Now, Dean knew that Castiel was right. But like I—oh wait.

I forgot.

Before I get to that part. I have to mention a few things.

So first, the moment their warrant popped up, they had to haul ass out of there pronto. Presto? Pronto?

I never know which one or if they are both correct. Whatever, fucking fast. How’s that?

Unfortunately, it took them a moment to realize this since. They were probably busy gazing in each other’s eyes. They do that a lot.

They also had a lot of things to figure out and discuss, as you’ve seen by the mini-ish preview above, but the main issue was that they needed to fly away from Henriksen. Stat. Hey, here’s another one.

Castiel was expecting Dean to gun for the pilot seat.

And he did for about five seconds. But he paused dramatically, looking at the monitor, harboring a face of deep disgust.

“Dean?”

“I—I—”

“What?”

Dean muttered something under his breath.

“Excuse me, what?”

“IdontknowhowthisbullshitsystemworksandIcantdoitsoyoudoit,” he mumbled.

Castiel, mouth wide open, looked at him in disbelief. Then, because he felt like being a little shit, he asked, as he held down a grin with great restraint, “What was that? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said, I can’t—just, you do it.”

Without further ado, Castiel promptly sat in the pilot seat while Dean sat at his side in the co-pilot one.

Expertly, or so it seemed to Dean, Castiel fired up the engines and propelled them out of Henriksen’s grasp, into the dark unknown of space. They didn’t really have a destination yet, as you can tell, and that would clearly become an issue very fast.

Out of immediate danger, momentarily at least Castiel turned to Dean with a funny look in his eyes.

“I thought you were a pilot, Dean.”

“I am!”

“Then what’s the problem? Performance issues?”

Dean shot him an angry look. What Dean should have said here was, “Let me show you how that is not the case.” Even though Castiel was very well aware of that fact, he certainly wouldn’t have minded the initiative.

But that’s not what Dean said. Apparently, he said, “I just don’t like it. I don’t usually use this high-tech crap.”

“This system of navigation is very standard.”

“My ship is the Impala67C.”

Castiel tried to hold down a smirk with difficulty.

“It’s a classic. Watch your fucking mouth,” he warned with his finger pointing at him.

“Absolutely, Lord.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Imperatively, my liege. Now that we’ve dealt with that, for now, may I ask what’s the deal with Amara? How is this whole thing in play, by the way? She wants you and you just say no?”

“It’s a long story and none of your business.”

“Evidently, the opposite could be argued considering half her fleet and mercenaries are after you _and _me. Not to mention the rest of the galaxy,” he said, nodding at their mug shots flashing on the monitor. “You must have really pissed her off. I’m just an innocent bystander right now.”

“Innocent. Right.” Oh, Dean.

“An innocent,” continued Castiel, “who was apparently used and dragged to your bed.” He was grinning like a mad man. “I wouldn’t have been opposed to it, but what the fuck was that all about anyway?”

“Right, like I had anything to do with that? I don’t even know how I got on that goddamn ship! Let alone how—if anyone did anything to anyone, it was you!”

“I was in cryo sleep, you assbutt!” Castiel looked at him, incredulous. “I think I can honestly say that I haven’t done anything to anyone in quite a while. And that includes putting you to bed.”

Dean yelled out a bunch of swear words.

“I know you said you don’t remember how you got on that ship, but surely you must remember something before that,” added Castiel. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head and lifting his arms up in the air. “I think the last thing I remember is that I was on Sacramentum.”

Castiel tilted his head. “Near the Preacantarix system?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“What were you doing there?” asked Castiel, and that is an excellent question. Yes, Dean. What were you doing there? That’s a very dodgy place to go. It’s almost like he was asking for trouble.

“Stuff.” Well, that clarified everything for Castiel. And before he could comment on that, Dean blurted out, to, you know, super not subtly change the subject, “Anyways, it doesn’t matter because none of this has to do with whatever is going on. I didn’t run into trouble there. I landed. Got off my ship. Grabbed something to eat. Went to a—”

And then he stopped dead. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Dean brushed his fingers on the back of his neck, hoping to be wrong, until he felt it.

“Crap.”

“What? What is it?”

“I don’t know. I think—I might have been hit with something,” he said, with a worried face.

Castiel took one step, but then immediately stopped. “May I?”

After a short look, Dean nodded and turned his back to let him see.

He still held his fingers on what he believed to be a tiny wound on his neck, right below his hairline.

Without touching him, Castiel examined Dean’s wound properly. “Somebody got stung.”

“Fuck.”

“And unfortunately, it doesn’t tell us much. I don’t claim to be an expert, but given its size and all, I’m fairly certain this couldn’t have been inflicted by a large caliber. Not from afar. I don’t even think you were shot.”

“You mean someone just stabbed me with a syringe or something in the middle of the street?”

“Something like that. You don’t remember anyone grabbing you?”

“No. I was just walking and then my neck hurt.”

He turned around and Castiel returned to his initial spot. His hands on his waist, Dean let out a groan of frustration.

“Who the hell would do that?” sighed Dean. “And why? Do—do you think Henriksen did this?” suggested Dean.

Castiel gave Dean the courtesy to think on his oh-so-obviously-wrong hypothesis for a moment, and then said, “I don’t think so. Why not simply bring you directly to Tenebra from there, then? It’s very unlikely that _he _broke into Purgatory, freed or kidnapped the prisoners—definitely kidnapped the crew— and all that, only to stash you there to _then _hold this over your head? He could have done this without the political stunt. And he wouldn’t have inquired about me. I think he just happened to find you—us—on Purgatory.”

Dean took in everything Castiel had just told him.

“You’re saying that someone else is trying to fuck with us? Me. Us. I don’t know.”

“Most likely you,” said Castiel, amused.

And Dean didn’t like that. “Oh yeah? Who’s to say this is whole mess ain’t about you, _James_?

Castiel smiled. “I had zero control over anything, _my lord_. I was hiding out. Someone caught me. I was put to sleep, without my consent, and then pouf, I woke up next to you. I don’t even know what year we’re in.” Castiel laughed. “Look Dean, it’s very simple to me. If they wanted to fuck with me and destroy my life, they’re a bit late for that. The only thing left for them to do would have been to kill me, and they could have easily done that by slicing my throat when I was under. Or even better, just tampered with my cryo pod and that would have been it. Nobody would have questioned it.”

And as angry as he was, Dean felt a bit of the fuzzy feeling of sadness creeping into his stubborn heart at the idea of Castiel’s death.

“If they had wanted to torture me—because that’s a brand new and original concept to me,” sarcastically continued Castiel, “they could have just transported me along with them, by taking my pod or dragging me with the other prisoners.”

This one didn’t have the same powerful effect as Castiel’s last comment for Dean, but he was also relieved that Castiel was not one of the missing prisoners—whoever and wherever they were.

“But they left me there with you. In your bed. In a very suggestive manner. From where I’m standing, this suggests that they had zero fucking clue of who I was, that they simply took someone randomly, and this is really just about you.”

And while Castiel had made an excellent point there (I’m not saying if he’s right or not), poor stubborn Dean was too busy replaying the words “in your bed” over and over in his head to have noticed.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t for the reasons he should have had.

“So awesome of you to bring this up, _James_, because there’s still something that bugs me about this.” He paused, realizing what he had just said. He hesitated a moment and then continued, “Okay, a freaking lot of things still bug me about this. But mainly it’s the fact that they picked you—you of all people—to be in bed with me. Don’t you think that’s a bit odd, _James_?”

Castiel made a face. “I don’t know if I’d qualify it as odd, but I think it was a happy accident.”

They stared at each other.

“Dean, I know what you’re getting at, but—”

“Good.”

“But that is very unlikely. That—that lead has been buried, as you know. If it was the case though, it could very well lead them to my identity—my true identity—and I really don’t think that’s the case, because of many reasons, including the fact that I am still breathing and this,” he said, pointing at his tag behind his ear. “And even then, if they would have known about—”

“What you did to me,” said Dean, cutting him off, as he distanced himself from Castiel even further.

Castiel held a firm stare.

“Among other things, yes.” Adopting a sorrowful state, he said, “Dean, I—you must—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he firmly said and do I dare say, fucking stubbornly. “It’s way too late for that. Look, you kinda saved my bacon today, so fine. But don’t think I don’t know who and what you are. I remember very well. And you were still in that cryo pod for a reason.”

Castiel stared at him with a sharp look. He swayed forward until he stood directly in front of Dean. The points of their feet touched. In fact, their noses practically did as well. Dean, fighting the urge to step back, stood his ground.

He even leaned forward a little bit.

For intimidation purposes. You know.

They had their little staring contest for a good minute until Castiel chuckled and leaned in as well.

“You think you know who I am?” he asked, smiling. His hand smoothly reached Dean’s shoulder and travelled up to the back of his neck, where he pulled it slightly to the side so Castiel’s mouth could meet Dean’s ear. Dean felt the warmth of Castiel’s cheek against his, and with Castiel’s fingers gripped gently on his short hair, Castiel whispered in his ear, “I’m only going to say this once: you don’t. So stop saying stupid things.”

And then he let go of the melting mess that was Dean, which was a really dumbass move on his part.

And Dean tried the best he could to keep his composure. I’m here to tell you that he did not succeed as well as he thought.

And now here’s the part where Dean said, “What the fuck are we supposed to do now?”

“We? I’m included in this decision? Good to know,” said Castiel, no longer using an amused tone.

Dean let out a deep sigh of exasperation.

(That’s what it was, right? Yeah, I’m pretty sure).

“Well, if you are truly asking for my input, then I say it depends on how badly you want to remedy this situation. We could do nothing and then be hunted down. Or we could try to find out who did this and why. I can’t promise it will change anything in the end, however, but that option is the most hopeful one.”

Now, Dean knew that Castiel was right. But like I said before, given how royally screwed up they both were, it would sound ridiculous to say that this messed up situation was in fact not Dean’s main problem in that moment.

Basically, even though he was completely fucked and this complicated his life 17678568877997th times worse, he still had another problem he had to tend do.

Thusly, he said, “I’ll—I know a place we could go. A friend of mine lives there. Missouri.”

“To hide or help?”

“Help. Both. She’ll know what to do.”

“How could she possibly help with this mess?”

“She’s an oracle on Augure.”

“She can predict the future?” asked Castiel, intrigued. I’ll give Dean that one because Castiel did not see that one coming. Ha. Get it? I’ll stop now.

“Um, yes, sometimes. And she knows other things. She’ll definitely help us to lay low.”

Castiel slightly lowered his eyes, weighing if that was a good idea or not.

But he agreed, of course.

So as they set course for Augure, a large, rocky planet—a bit too rocky for my taste, and yet beautiful—Castiel and Dean lay down some ground rules.

Actually, it was much more an agreement than anything else. They consented they’d help each other out to reach Augure and from there, based on whatever council Missouri would give them, they would decide their own route to take.

That’s what they said.

Of course, as this discussion went down, Dean constantly repeated that he didn’t trust Castiel, which wasn’t a total lie.

He also stated that he couldn’t wait for all this to be over, ‘this’ meaning his fun time with Castiel, which was not only definitely a _lie_, but a cruel one too.

But Castiel simply stayed put, smiled and observed him, nonchalantly.

“What?” barked Dean. “No protests? Comebacks? Threats?”

“It is evident that no matter what I say you’ve already made up your mind about me. And I understand why you would have. Which is why I won’t waste my time trying to convince you otherwise.”

Well, that was not what Dean had wanted to hear, because that kind of fucked with his pigheaded plan to continue being cross with Castiel.

“Awesome. That’s just awesome. Anything else to add?”

“You have very soft skin,” he said, sliding his finger along his arm.

About to reach their destination, they figured it would probably be a good idea to blend in and change their clothes.

Since they had both been dragged out of bed in a hurry, and against their will by Henriksen’s men, they hadn’t had the chance to grab the rest of their stuff.

And by ‘they,’ I mean mainly Dean.

Scavenging through the crew’s personal items, they both succeeded in finding appropriate footwear. Dean found a blue long-sleeved shirt, as well as a dark blue jacket. The jacket fit fine, but he couldn’t help making a face of disgust at the idea that he had lost his favourite leather jacket.

At least he still had his amulet.

Castiel wore his trench coat, which Dean thought looked ridiculous on him, particularly since he insisted on wearing it solely over his armor.

“Um, I don’t know what the deal with _that _is, but the point is that we don’t attract attention. The coat is pushing it, but fine. But the armor is a bit much. People will definitely notice.”

Castiel tilted his head. “So what I understand is that I shouldn’t wear my armor.”

Dean gave him one obvious nod.

“It’s funny you mention this, Dean, because that’s precisely what I was trying to avoid.” He took off his coat, then his armor and dropped them on the floor, thus revealing his tattooed bare chest. “Perhaps I misjudged the situation, but I thought this would be far more a cause for attention than an old piece of armor. What do you think?”

Dean swallowed. “Fine, keep the damn armor on. But maybe put a shirt over it too.”

Castiel smirked at the corner of his mouth. He blew him a kiss as a pleasantry and Dean made a face of exasperation because he was like a twelve year old who didn’t know what to do with himself.

Castiel was playing it cool, but he knew he would get in trouble soon if he continued that way.

Not because he was worried Dean would retaliate by physically harming him if he pushed it too far. He’d be very impressed if Dean could manage such a thing.

Not physical pain, no.

Emotional pain, however?

Well, let’s just say for now that he’s been there before and he didn’t really plan on repeating the experience.

But since he deduced, given their poor circumstances, that he was probably going to end up back on ice, he decided that it didn’t mean he couldn’t have his little bit of fun.

And considering who I’m talking about right now, I’m really impressed that he thought that—like, wow.

Once on Augure, they didn’t linger. They landed quickly, made sure to stay as low-key as possible, and then hurried to find Missouri.

“You know where you’re going?” asked Castiel, walking next to Dean and trying to avoid the attention of the crowd around them.

“Yes,” said Dean confidently. “I’ve visited her many times over the years. It’s two streets down.”

They finally arrived at what looked like a quaint little house on a corner street with a colorful garden and trees surrounding it.

But there was one problem.

The house was on fire.

“What the shit.”

They watched in horror the house burning away, as responders and concerned neighbors were attempting to put out the fire.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Dean and Castiel to learn that Missouri had not been present when the fire had began and that no one else had been hurt.

Which was a great relief to them.

Unfortunately, they were then had also been informed that the reason why Missouri had not been home was because she had left Augure the day before.

And nobody had any idea where she had gone.

Discouraged at the news, Dean sighed and cursed everything.

Hurrying down the street away from the crime scene and watchful eyes, Dean tugged Castiel into a dark alley.

“What do you think happened to your friend?” asked Castiel.

“I have no fricking clue but this whole thing stinks.”

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know. We can’t stay here or we are going to be made sooner or later. I was hoping Missouri would help us.”

“How would she have helped us, Dean? You never really explained that part. Oracles can be helpful, but it’s been my experience that where premonitions are concerned, it only makes sense after it has come to pass. Even if she would have given us shelter, we both know that wouldn’t have lasted forever. Henriksen and the rest of the galaxy are looking for us,” said Castiel, subtly nodding to their own mug shots projected on the walls. “How are we supposed to fight this?”

“You tell me. You’re the criminal. And the fugitive, Mr. Novak.”

Castiel smiled. “So formal, Dean. What happened to James?”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Why did you think coming here would help?” repeated Castiel.

“Okay, look. I—I wasn’t going to ask Missouri for shelter. I was going to ask her a—a question. I need information.”

“To get us out of this?”

“Yes. But no. It’s personal.”

Castiel frowned. “About Amara.”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“It’s personal. Whatever. Doesn’t matter now. Fuck this sucks.”

“Perhaps I could be of assistance,” said a man who had just appeared out of nowhere next to them. He had brown hair and a beard. His black suit was elegant and he harbored a general vibe of professionalism. “But we should really get out of here.”

He pressed on something on his wrist and the next thing they knew, Castiel and Dean were standing in a dungeon-like room and the man was sitting on a—okay, I’ll tell it how it was: the dude was sitting on a fricking throne. There.

“Much better. More intimate.”

“What the fuck! How—” started yelling Dean, touching his chest, making sure he was all in one piece.

“Who are you?” asked Castiel, not as perturbed as Dean, who was then busy checking if he wasn’t missing any body parts. In his pants.

“The name’s Crowley, boys. And I’ve got a proposition for you.”


	3. Do We Have a Deal?

So our boys were staring at Crowley; one was intrigued and the other one freaking out. I don’t think I need to tell you precisely which one was freaking out.

“What kind of proposition?” asked Castiel.

“Whoa, hold on,” said Dean. “Can we go back to the part where you—what? Just teleported us or something? Where are we? And who the hell are you?”

“He just told us. His name’s Crowley,” said Castiel, pointing at him, amused.

“Yeah, like that explains everything. Unless you—do you know him?”

“No. But I’m sure he was about to elaborate on that considering he said he has a proposition. I’m simply curious to hear what he was about to tell us.”

“Why would we listen?”

“Well, he didn’t kill us,” said Castiel, studying the man on his throne. “Or bring us to the authorities. So that’s something.”

“Authorities? What millennia are you from?”

“As entertaining as this moronic lover banter is, I don’t have all day,” said Crowley. And he said that while sitting on his throne as one of his manservants was massaging his feet, a detail that Castiel and Dean hadn’t noticed until then. “Want to hear what I have to say, or do you just want me to send you right back where you came from, where you will most undoubtedly be arrested, captured or killed?”

Castiel and Dean glimpsed at one another. Dean, ready to roar a protest, took one look at Castiel—one tiny look at him—rolled his eyes and lifted his arms up in defeat. That’s all it took.

“Before you tell us of your proposition, I think Dean would feel better if you tell us more about who you are, why would you help us and how you knew about us or where to find us?”

Unsure if Castiel was mocking him or not, Dean crossed his arms against his chest and made a moue.

Crowley let out a deep sigh. “While I’m all about acquiring information, it’s not very hard to know who you are. There’s a warrant for your arrest sent throughout the galaxy. What I find interesting about this, however, is that while everyone is evidently more concerned about Lord Dean Winchester falling off the tracks, nobody seems to be asking too many questions about the elusive James Novak. Which is almost a pity, really, as they might realize that you are not James Novak.”

Dean glanced at Castiel with worry, but found him harboring an unexpressive face.

“Something tells me you would like to keep it that way, Castiel,” said Crowley.

“You know who am I.”

“I don’t think I have the whole scoop, but I know enough. More than him, I think,” he said, glancing at Dean, amused.

Dean, nearly insulted by his insinuation, frowned and turned to Castiel, expecting a firm rejection of Crowley’s claim. But Castiel’s eyes remained fixed on the other man with a grim look on his face.

Annoyed and feeling threatened, Dean said, “Pretty sure I know more about Cas than you—you bearded—seated in—ass.”

“Then you are evidently a moron, squirrel.”

Dean was about to bark out something else, but Crowley cut him off and continued speaking, after shooing away his manservant. “I’ve been trying to locate you since I saw the alert pop up. I have eyes mostly everywhere and, well, here we are.”

“_Locate _us?”

“Instead of capturing us. Why? Why did you want to find us?”

“I need assistance. And it’s the kind that is complicated. Therefore, not everyone would want to apply for the job.”

Dean and Castiel stared at him, clearly looking skeptical.

“Okay,” said Crowley, rolling his eyes, “it’s the kind that _nobody _would want to take on the job, with the exception of, perhaps, desperate fools who have very limited options, such as yourselves. But I need it to be done and done well. If you help me with this endeavor, I’ll give you means of transportation, other than Henriksen’s stolen ship—yes, I know about that—and I’ll help you out with anything you need to know, be it about your current situation or something else. I’m not the oracle, but I know enough to do the trick.”

“A job? We don’t have time for your bullshit!” yelled Dean.

And he had no fucking idea how right he was in that moment.

“Then you know what is awaiting you when I return you to that dirty alley.”

“What is it you want us to do?” asked Castiel while Dean was fuming next to him.

“Do we have a deal?”

“What’s the job? Tell us that before,” groaned Dean.

Crowley, exhaling deeply, interlocked his hands together as he took a moment to reflect on his sales pitch. “I have a…let’s call him a competitor. He’s been a pain in my ass lately.”

“You want us to kill him, I suppose?” scowled Dean.

“What? No. I mean that would be very helpful, in a way, but it’s actually impossible to do so at the moment. Also, if he’s gone, then it just leaves the spot for another idiot to deal with. That’s pointless.”

“So, what are you suggesting then?” said Castiel.

“Like I said, I’m all about acquiring information. What I would like you to do is to bring me back an employee of his. One in particular. So we can…talk.”

“Right. Talk, “ said Dean, rolling his eyes. “Who is this idiot and where can we find him?”

“That’s the tricky part. He’s a she, and she’s on Turbulentus Station.”

“That shithole? Are you fucking kidding us? How the hell are we supposed to get into that territory?”

“That’s why I said it was tricky.”

“Why can’t you do it? You said you had eyes practically everywhere.”

“Yes, _practically _everywhere. I’m sure _you _understand how this specific locale, as well as other horrid places such as Illex and others I don’t even want to name right now, is beyond my reach, even if all I require is information. I can know things about this place, but not what I require. Which is extremely frustrating; hence, why I’ve brought you here. Those are my terms. You boys get on that damn station and do what I ask—you two should be somewhat capable—and I will help you in return for your services. I told you what I want. Now’s the part where you voice the pretty favors you both desire.”

Crowley waited patiently, but both Dean and Castiel stood still and remained silent, evidently not wanting to be the first one to voice anything. Dean was looking at the floor and Castiel was pursing his lips.

Crowley, in disbelief of how ridiculous and stubborn they both were, rolled his eyes,muttering under his breath. “Dean, how can I help you? Why were you seeking Mrs. Moseley’s help?”

“It’s personal,” he said, holding a firm look.

“You’re going to have to share with the rest of the class, I’m afraid.”

Still nothing.

Crowley lifted himself from his throne and stepped down his little steps, keeping his focus on Dean—for dramatic effect, of course. “If it’s the business with Empress Amara you want to deal with, I can help. I can also help with both your current _statuses _with the law,” he added, his eyes shifting to Castiel.

“If that’s the case, why don’t you help us right away with that, then?” asked Dean, like a very annoyed bean.

“Because our current statuses will help us get into Turbulentus Station,” said Castiel.

Crowley smirked at Castiel as he studied him for a moment. “For someone who just got their brain thawed out, you’re pretty sharp. How uncommon. And interesting.”

As his eyes were bouncing between Castiel and Crowley, who were having a staring contest, Dean felt his heart racing at the scene unfolding before him. Well, the one _he thought _was unfolding. In order to put an end to it, Dean, panicking as he always does in these situations, blurted out, “My brother. Sam. He’s in trouble. Everyone says he—but I know it’s not true. I just—I need to find him.”

“Done,” said Crowley, without hesitation. “And Castiel?”

Castiel turned to Dean in surprise at hearing his request. Considering their current circumstances, not to mention his feud with Amara, whatever that might be, Dean’s demand was not at all what Castiel had expected. Like a good caring boyfriend, he wished to inquire about Sam’s uncertain fate, as it was the first time he had heard of it. After pondering on the matter for a moment, however, he then figured that this wasn’t the time or the place, and that was on the off chance that Dean would be in a sharing mood.

Which was very unlikely.

For now.

So he turned back his attention back to Crowley.

“If you really know who I am, then you know what I need,” was all Castiel said. As blunt and direct as he can be, he really has a talent for vagueness and ambiguity, I tell you.

“Also done,” said Crowley, smiling. “Bring me back my informant, breathing—not a scratch on her—and what you need is yours, as well as a complementary means of transportation to take on whichever path you seek from there. In the mean time, there is a ship outside for you to get to Turbulentus Station. No one will bother you, but I’ll be tracking it. No detours. And if you run, I’ll still know and I won’t be happy.”

After his warning, he opened a large case, which had been resting on one of the tables near them. “A few more things, too. First, you’ll need this.” He presented Dean with an old blaster of a silver color. And when I say old, I mean, a freaking relic.

Which is why they both looked at him, baffled.

“I thought you said you wanted your snitch breathing?” said Dean, shaking his head, refusing to take the weapon.

“I do. This is just for precaution if things get complicated with your exit. You might find it useful in the near future,” said Crowley.

Children, Uncle Crowley was right. I’m happy to say that Dean got over himself, listened to him and took the damn blaster. <strike></strike>

“Now, as I previously mentioned, while entering the station won’t be a problem, getting out, and this with someone who may not be very keen on leaving…You’ll have to make an urgent exit and it will most likely not be pretty.”

Dean sighed in utter annoyance.

“Which is why I will also give you this.” He handed them a pair of matching bracelets. How cute. And a third one for the target, but whatever.

Dean frowned after examining the bracelet more carefully, realizing what it was. “Nobody can teleport in and out of that station—teleporters or not.”

“_Almost _nobody,” specified Crowley. “There is one area on that wretched place where certain highly placed goons can come and go as they please without the usual entry fee and regulations.”

They both stared at him. Dean was completely lost, but Castiel leaned his head backwards as he finally understood Crowley’s crazy plan.

“You mean the personal quarters of the Levis on the station?”

Dean let out a nervous laugh.

“You can’t be serious. The Levis?”

“Hence the gun.”

“Even if—how the hell are we supposed to do that?”

“All you have to do is access the key code. I’ll tell you where you can get it. It’s really not complicated. Once that’s done, all you have to do is find my informant, reach that area and then use the teleporters.”

Dean swore. “This is gonna suck ass, isn’t it?”

“Can we have a moment to discuss this?” requested Castiel.

“Sure, take your time. It’s not like I have other things to do or anything.”

They both took a few steps away, turning their backs to Crowley for some “privacy.”

“What do you think?” huffed Dean.

“It sounds reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” he scoffed.

“Dean, our options are limited. At the very least, if we go along with this, we will have more than what we have at this moment, which is nothing.”

Dean sighed. “It’s just, that detour is gonna take us forever. And I—”

He looked down.

“Would a hug help?”

Dean was not amused. “No,” he lied.

“What other option do we have then?”

“I said no to the hug, Cas. I’m certainly not gonna go for anything more than that.”

“I meant our options in general.”

“Oh—um, I knew that.”

“But good to know.”

“Stop.”

“You started it.”

That’s when Crowley cleared his throat.

“Just to let you boys know that Henriksen and his mercenaries or bandits or whatever just arrived on this planet,” he said, watching the monitor to their left. “I don’t think he’s happy you stole his ship.”

See. Told you they had to hurry ass.

Dean and Castiel exchanged one last look. In the end, Castiel would have supported whichever plan Dean would have opted for. But Dean just saw pleading blue eyes staring back at him and knew it was their best option.

Dean sighed. “What’s the name of that idiot you want us to bring again?”


	4. Turbulentus

The ship, though functional, was actually kinda gross.

Dean was very much bitching about this for most of the journey, which is really unfortunate because he missed all the batting of pretty eyes and other things that Castiel was doing.

I have heard from a reliable source, who shall not be named just yet, however, that Dean was apparently super aware of all that, and that his bitching was, in fact, just him desperately trying to keep himself busy and act like he wasn’t noticing or interested when it was very much the opposite.

Who knows.

Fleeing Crowley’s, um, dungeon, the boys escaped from Henriksen’s clutches yet again, but just about.

They met no issues on their way to Turbulentus, which was a pleasant and refreshing surprise to them.

Not that they didn’t trust Crowley, but well, they didn’t trust him.

At least they weren’t completely stupid.

About _that_.

Their luck, I must inform you, ended there.

They arrived on Turbulentus shortly. It’s not a nice place but it isn’t a far distance from where they came from.

Turbulentus Station is basically a pit stop. It built itself around an old—like really freaking old—cruise spaceship. The kind very rich people used to pay a scandalous amount of money to relax in, look at the stars, and surround themselves with other people like them, even though that was probably what they did at home too.

I don’t know. I guess everyone has a right to a change of scenery once in a while.

But that’s what Turbulentus was all about back in the day.

There’s no clear knowledge how this change came to be, but my guess is that something dramatic happened a few centuries ago, and well, um, let’s just say a lot of the guests probably asked for a refund.

People, who shall not be named, got control of the ship and people died. A bunch of other ships attached themselves to it, and soon after that, the whole place became a hot zone for people who have questionable moral grounds.

Which makes sense, considering who is in charge of the place these days.

The Levis Clan. Um, there are many people you want to stay clear of—Amara is definitely one, but the Levis aren’t exactly far behind her. In fact, of the two, I’d personally pick dealing with Amara over the Levis’ psycho bullshit.

But that’s me.

And Castiel and Dean didn’t exactly have many options at their disposal.

After they docked the ship, they were granted access to a bridge (like literally, I don’t mean the bridge of a ship), and made their way to the front gate.

Let me tell you, the whole thing was shady.

“I can’t believe I’m going through with this,” muttered Dean under his breath. “This is fucking nuts. Even at this point.”

“We don’t have to, it was just a suggestion.”

Dean huffed. “Just—don’t make it weird.”

Castiel smirked. “No promises.”

“I am so gonna fucking regret this,” he groaned.

They stood at the gates, side by side. I don’t know why people refer to the entrance of Turbulentus as ‘gates,’ because it looks much more like thick, high doors than anything else. Oh, and it’s never been proven, but everyone says that the ‘gates’ are made out of the bones of whoever doesn’t come back from this place.

It’s weird, creepy and definitely not inviting.

Having never been there, Dean looked around nervously, and then lifted his hand to knock on the door. Gate. Whatever.

But Castiel stopped him. He gripped Dean’s hand and shook his head.

And he kept holding his hand. You know, like a sly person.

Dean, panicking, was about to tell him to give him his hand back, but the gate finally slid to the left, thus creating a small embrasure, where someone, wearing a grey uniform, was staring at them.

“What do you want?” said the gatekeeper.

“Entry,” said Castiel. I mean, duh.

“Then you should know the drill. Identification is required.”

“Considering our circumstances, I am afraid we don’t have the traditional ones,” said Castiel. “But I don’t think it will be necessary for us.”

The gatekeeper remained expressionless and awaited their identification nonetheless.

“Watched the news lately?” said Dean.

The gatekeeper did not like his attitude. Which was probably why he turned his eyes to Castiel and disappeared without saying anything.

Dean and Castiel exchanged brief worried looks.

But the gate slid open again, enough to allow them to step inside.

“Identification,” the gatekeeper repeated. That poor man. The routine of this job would kill my soul.

Dean was about to protest, but Castiel showed him his tag behind his ear. The gatekeeper sighed and gestured for his colleague, who had creepily managed to slide himself right behind Castiel and Dean, to come take a look.

Dean jolted when the second gatekeeper rushed by him out of nowhere.

Much like Henriksen’s tech, he scanned Castiel’s tag and nodded to the first gatekeeper.

“It’s him. It’s James Novak.”

Everybody turned to Dean.

“I, um, I don’t have one of those,” he said awkwardly.

“That’s unfortunate then. Access denied.”

“Since when?” asked Castiel.

Everyone turned to Castiel.

“You evidently know who we are,” argued Castiel. “Identification is usually to ensure this. If you know of James Novak, it means you watch the news, and therefore know about my friend.” He lifted his chin and stepped closer to them. “Since when do you deny people access to this place? Even if it was someone who you wouldn’t normally be thrilled to see appear at your doorstep, that certainly wouldn’t compel you to refuse them. You’d have them in your grasp. Isn’t that what you want?”

Now that Castiel had everybody’s attention, Dean’s included, the gatekeepers took a moment to observe him a little closer.

“You sound very sure about this information,” said one of them.

“That’s because I know how this place operates.”

“And yet, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you here before.”

“That doesn’t mean I haven’t visited before,” said Castiel in his deadpan expression.

“I remember pretty much everyone,” said the other, who was now aiming his blaster at Castiel’s face. “I’m certain I would have remembered you.”

“I’m older than I look. Maybe I was here before your time. You seem rather young to me.” And he did. He definitely was younger than Castiel in any case. That’s for sure.

The gatekeeper didn’t like his sassiness. And even though that was just a fact, I guess he thought Castiel was just screwing around with him. Idiot. He stepped closer to Castiel, all menacing, which was really unnecessary. And just as he was about to do something incredibly stupid, a voice said, “Wait.”

The gatekeeper immediately lowered his arm and stepped away from Castiel.

A dark hooded figure with a…let’s call this a staff for now, stood behind the gatekeepers. Advancing smoothly towards them, the figure pulled their hood off, revealing a wise smile and attentive eyes. She moved closer to Castiel and after grazing the collar of his shirt with her fingers, she gently pulled its the edge aside to reveal the golden and blue rim of the armor it covered. She lifted her eyes and observed him gravely.

“The colors have faded, it seems, but this looks like the real deal. Where did you find such a thing?”

“I didn’t find it. It’s mine. It has always been mine.”

She lifted an eyebrow and smiled at the corner of her mouth. She had difficulty buying that one and I can’t blame her.

“I suppose you can prove it?”

Castiel let out a sigh. Even if his eyes didn’t waver from her face, he was still paying close attention to the other two goons, as well as Dean, who stood right by his side, as he removed his coat.

And took his shirt off.

And his armor.

Yes, he was half naked again. A sight that I think would have been much more appreciated by Dean if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was totally lost as to why Castiel was undressing himself.

She stepped closer, her eyes widening at seeing his abdomen, and observed the tattoos.

“You are older than you look, aren’t you? I haven’t seen these in a long time,” she said, brushing the left side of his ribs. “These, however,” she said, her hand moving to his torso, “these are more recent.” She slid her fingers on them as if she was reading them. “Oh. I see.”

Dean couldn’t see anything and he was beyond frustrated at this in that moment.

So much so that he said, not able to help himself, “So, what’s the deal?”

She withdrew her hand, took a step back to get a good look at Castiel once more, and then said, “You may pass, of course,” while nodding her head towards him.

“Terrific,” said Castiel. He quickly grabbed his clothes and amour, and nudged Dean alongside him for them to get the hell out of there.

But both gatekeepers took hold of Dean’s arms and motioned him back towards the front gate. Castiel stared at the dark figure, puzzled.

“But not him. I didn’t say he could,” she said.

“I—why? You know of our situation. Why refuse him if you were ready to let me in? Even before you knew—even before you saw these,” he said, gesturing at his tattoos and his armor. Castiel was getting anxious. As Crowley had suggested, their statuses should have been more than enough to let them in.

She took a few dramatic seconds to think of her answer, and then said, “You are correct. Normally, you and Mr. Winchester would fit right in. Your reputations, or even your identities, are not the problem here.”

“Then what is?” asked Dean.

She turned her gaze to Dean and stared at him, pursing her lips. “Your connection to Empress Amara is the problem.”

Dean shaking his head. “There’s no—why does it matter?” asked Dean.

“We prefer staying clear of her business.”

“You don’t want to vex her?” snorted Castiel. And given the glare she shot him, he probably should have kept that one to himself.

“We are not afraid of her, if that’s what you are implying. People come here to avoid their problems as you know. As long as they stay here, we can keep those problems at bay for them.”

She forgot to add the part where it practically cost you your soul, but I guess she wasn’t really worried about that detail. Just—Turbulentus is not a place you want to linger around for too long. It doesn’t mean you’ll changed forever, but it’s kind of a “last resort” place to go to.

“The ordeal with Empress Amara, however, is…troublesome. To put it mildly. So, no. Dean Winchester may not be admitted on Turbulentus.”

She began to turn around, but Castiel gripped her by the arm.

“He’s with me. And I’m not leaving without him.”

“Then I suppose this is goodbye. For the both of you. And not through the front gate.”

Castiel clenched his jaw. She freed herself from his hold and walked slowly away from him.

Panicking, Castiel swallowed and said, “I’ll vouch for him. You won’t get any trouble from him. From us.”

Welp. That’s what he said.

She came to a dramatic halt and faced him once more. A sly smile formed itself on her face.

“You mean,” she said, “you want to take _responsibility _for him?”

Castiel bit his lip and nodded.

She held her stare with a piercing look, probably trying to detect his bullshit. “If you mean what I think you mean, there is only one way to ensure this.”

“Is that necessary?” Castiel lowered his eyes for a moment.

“It is. And you know it.”

“Fine!” blurted out Castiel. “Can we hurry it up? I have a place to go to and we’ve been delayed far enough as it is,” he said nonchalantly. But he didn’t mean it like that. He was pretty much freaking out. This really was not what he wanted. Or not _how _he wanted to do it, I should say.

With one look at the gatekeepers, she signaled them to bring Dean forward. “Go fetch what is necessary,” she told one of them.

While the first gatekeeper left their side for a moment, the second one, still holding Dean firmly, pulled on Dean’s left jacket sleeve.

“What the—hey!” Dean resisted. Of course.

“We need your arm exposed.”

Dean made a face of disgust.

“That means your shirt too.”

He shot him a murderous look, shook his head and then turned his gaze to Castiel, for support and explanation. But Castiel, after hesitating for a moment, nodded at Dean to follow the gatekeeper’s instruction.

Dean was not happy. But he did it.

Moments later, the first gatekeeper was back, carrying a bowl and a large, thick glove and a few other instruments, which he put down on a small table the once-hooded figure had slid next to them.

As both gatekeepers were keeping Dean still, she swayed in front of him, brushed his upper arm, and then his shoulder. She then stepped back, smiled and offered Castiel the glove.

But he remained still. “Is—is it really necessary?” repeated Castiel, once he noticed Dean’s uneasy expression.

“You know that branding is the only way. Is there a problem?” she asked.

“What?” croaked Dean.

“No. No problem,” said Castiel. He cleared his throat.

“Then pick a branding device,” she said, nodding at the table where a bunch of weird looking instruments were laid out.

Castiel stepped forward and grabbed the bowl. Castiel observed the clear, yet bubbling substance swirling in the bowl. He could smell its strong odor, which made his eyes sting. She offered him the glove again, but he shook his head.

Then she smiled.

“What about the device?” she said.

“I—we—I have my own way of doing this.”

Her eyes still on him, looking almost fascinated, she sad, “You really are one of them,” and then, put the glove away.

Castiel shot one last look at poor Dean, who was sweating buckets and completely at a loss about everything.

And then Castiel lowered his hand into the substance and immediately clenched his jaw. Fumes were coming out of it, and he had to hold down a groan.

If Dean was troubled a moment ago, that was nothing compared to how freaking perturbed he was watching Castiel sticking his hand into some mysterious, smelly, and evidently painful solution.

The other two gatekeepers glanced at their boss, wondering what the hell Castiel was up to, but she lifted her hand for them to chill.

Finally, Castiel withdrew his hand and let out a deep breath. He put down the bowl back on the stool and stood in front of Dean.

He rested his uninjured hand softly on Dean’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, which made Dean’s heartbeat increase.

“I hope you’re ready,” she said to Dean. “Because this is going to sting.”

And just as she had finished her sentence, Dean felt the warmth of Castiel’s injured hand on his shoulder. And for an instant, it was soothing.

Until it wasn’t.

Searing pain cut off his breath. He shut his eyes tightly, holding down a scream.

His knees nearly gave out at the pain. He gripped Castiel by the waist and buried his face into Castiel’s neck.

There are two important things to note about this. One is that this was actually sort of sweet when you think about it. Especially if you don’t pay too much attention to the semi-agony they were both enduring.

The second thing though, is because Dean glued himself to Castiel and his entire face was up against his neck, it unfortunately meant that he missed the spectacle of Castiel’s eyes turning bright and shiny white (with a hint of blue) for a moment.

Castiel removed his hand as fast as he could from Dean’s shoulder and then wrapped his arm around him, hoping to comfort him, even if he gathered that there was very little he could do to appease Dean’s suffering in that moment.

The truth, however, was that Castiel’s embrace had made all the difference for Dean. The agonizing burning sensation on his shoulder had ceased the second Castiel had released it, and despite the fact that he was trembling like a leaf, Castiel’s hug had been an instant cure for his discomfort.

As Dean was slowly coming back to himself, Castiel, very reluctantly, loosened his grip and leaned back to look at him.

Dean held him gently by his wrist, but he avoided his eyes.

“Congratulations,” she said. “And welcome to Turbulentus.”

They put their clothes back on and stuff, and after quickly making their way down a dark and narrow tunnel, which led to an another (yet, wider and brighter) tunnel, they followed the flow of a small crowd of newcomers heading to the main entrance.

Once there, they stood quietly, side by side, taking in the view of this spot of madness.

“Dean? How are you feeling?”

“What the fuck was that?” he hissed.

“That wasn’t my question, but fair enough. Um, branding. To grant us access.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” he said, turning to him. “Which is totally demented, by the way. I mean, what exactly was that. Like, why—what the hell!”

Castiel studied him a moment, weighing how much information he should share with Dean.

Let’s be clear, he knew that after what had just happened, he definitely owed Dean some explanations.

And he wanted to open up to Dean about it. That had always been the case. Even before…well, everything.

But Dean already had a lot on his plate. Like a lot, a lot. And he felt that this would only complicate things even more. So, in that moment, like an idiot, he concluded that he should perhaps omit certain details for the time being and focus on the task at hand instead.

Sigh.

Don’t worry. We will get back to that. As you may know, secrets usually don’t stay hidden for too long.

“Cas?” breathed Dean.

“We needed to gain access, Dean, and they didn’t want to let you in. So, I did what I had to do.”

“With your bare fucking hand?”

“I—I needed it to be authentic.”

“Authentic to what?”

Castiel remained silent on that one, which didn’t help the situation.

Dean pursed his lips. “And what does that mean? Like, being branded? Because, to me, this sounds like ownership or some really creepy thing like that.”

“Oh, you mean like this?” said Castiel, pointing at his tag behind his ear. “Look, it was just to get us in. We got in. Now we need to follow through with part two: get what we need and get out. None of this will—um, matter once we leave.”

Dean wasn’t stupid. He glared at Castiel a little more, shook his head and turned his attention back to the lawless city unfolding in front of them. He let the matter drop.

For now.

But he sure as shit didn’t forget it.

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Castiel. “Are—how are you feeling?”

“Peachy. You? Your—your hand?” he asked, trying to sound like he didn’t care.

“I’ll be fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. I heal quickly.”

Dean had difficulty believing this and he was about to tell Castiel so, but he realized that the pain in his shoulder had considerably subdued. So he figured that perhaps Castiel was telling the truth.

“Great. Now, let’s get this done so we can get out of this shithole.”

Turbulentus is messed up. It really is a questionable place to find oneself. It’s like, no one really is going to pay attention to you, because everyone is busy with their own stuff. Which means that everyone is mostly doing whatever they feel like.

Sounds fun and yet, not so much. Really depends on your personal limits.

It gets to be a lot, to be honest.

You really have to learn to keep your eyes to yourself and ignore a lot of things if you don’t want to be scarred for life, but you severely still have to keep your eyes wide open and be alert too, because you never know what’s gonna hit you.

And something definitely will at one point or another.

Not that I know that much about it. I’m far from being an expert about this degenerate location.

I mean, I’ve been there once or twice and, um, that’s all I’m going to say about that.

The good thing here about Castiel and Dean is that at least they were together. Even though they were ridiculous about it, and kept stupidly insisting that they weren’t, we know the truth, and it is that they were. Together.

As they carefully walked by a group of Lupi, Dean’s stomach growled so Castiel suggested they should grab food while discussing strategy.

(Proof of what I was saying. About those two idiots in love.)

They entered one of the million dodgy places of that darn station, and ordered something quick. The food, just like the company roaming around them, was not that inspiring, but Dean still devoured it like the precious bean he is and Castiel couldn’t help but smile as he watched him.

Dean suddenly slowed his roll when he realized that Castiel was admiring him.

“Wut?” he said, half-chewing.

“I think somebody was hungry.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Yes. But not really.”

“Whatever that means.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry to hear about Sam,” said Castiel in a very earnest voice. Dean stopped chewing and kept his eyes on the table, pretending he didn’t hear the genuine comment Castiel had just given him.

“Can I ask what happened?”

Dean started chewing again. And huffing too. And was now determined to look straight in front of him.

“Dean?”

Dean shook his head, like the stubborn bastard that he was. “No. We’re not doing this.”

“But perhaps I could help. I would like to. However you’d wish.”

That got his attention. He turned his eyes to Castiel for a super brief moment, and then hurriedly diverted his gaze when he realized what he was doing.

And he replied with a shake of his head once again and took another bite of his sandwich.

Even if he meant to say yes. And he did mean to say yes. And it killed him to refuse. Not just because, despite everything, he enjoyed Castiel’s company and appreciated his aid (which he totally did). Nor because it was about Sam and that meant every method to reach his goal was then fair game to him (which it absolutely was).

But no, it was because since he had been on his mysterious quest regarding Sam, next to no one had offered to help him. Of the few that had, the “solutions” they had presented to Dean had not been as effective as he had hoped them to be.

I don’t want to say they were disappointing, but yes. They had been. And while he knew that was the best they could have done considering the circumstances, he also knew it had been the equivalent of replacing a light bulb when the power is out, hoping it would change something.

Meaning doing fuck all.

But now, Castiel had offered him his help. His actual support in Dean’s quest, even though he didn’t know the specifics. Even though he didn’t know the whole story. And without restraints. Without laws or guidelines he knew his friends wouldn’t have been able to cross.

After chewing on his bite four times longer than he needed to, Dean said, “That won’t be necessary.”

And added, “But thank you.”

But only said it in his mind, though.

I know. Frustrating, right?

Not trusting himself to resist another time if Castiel persisted, Dean eagerly changed the subject. “What about the job. How should we proceed?”

“It appears to be rather straight forward.”

“Yeah, so was entering this damn place,” pointed out Dean, still feeling bitter.

“I don’t think the key codes will be an issue. We simply have to meet Crowley’s contact at the rendezvous.”

“It’s the part that follows that is stressing me out,” sighed Dean. “This place is packed. Roaming around undetected is one thing, but the second we try to drag someone along with us—someone who will most likely not be eager to be dragged along—people will notice. And that’s not even accounting for our suicidal exit strategy.”

“Perhaps we simply need to persuade our target to follow us.”

Dean frowned and put down his sandwich. “You mean like…what do you mean? Verbally or physically?”

Castiel reflected on it and said, “Both, I suppose.”

Dean still stared at him.

“I don’t mean in a forceful, physical manner, Dean,” said Castiel. He was looking pretty innocent in that moment, but I can tell you, he wasn’t.

Dean flinched. “You mean hit on her?” 

He was still a little more innocent than Dean, however. As you can assess yourself.

Castiel smirked. “Actually, I was going to suggest something else entirely, but you have my attention now. Please continue.”

“No, no. Let’s—let’s go back to what you meant.”

“Please, Dean,” he said in a really low voice, leaning in very closely. “I’m very interested in hearing what you have to say on the subject. How would you proceed?”

Dean swallowed. “Okay, one, stop that.” He cleared his throat and repositioned himself on his seat, ignoring the mild increase in his heartbeat. “And two, we’re not doing that.”

“Why not? I like it.”

Dean shook his head.

“May I suggest an approach to your method? Since you’re shy.”

“I’m not shy.”

“No?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Look, it’s not rocket science. Just—you know. The usual stuff.”

“Which is? How do you usually conduct flirtation?”

“Who cares how I do it? I’ll just—you know, do it.”

Castiel remained silent and observed him, waiting.

“You want a play-by-play?” said Dean, annoyed.

“I just want to know how you would approach it so we know we have the best chances, that’s all.”

Yes, he was fucking with him.

“You mean, over yours?”

“I’m still waiting Dean.” See?

Dean sighed. “I don’t know. It’s not difficult. I’d just walk up to them—her. Say something funny. Corny, perhaps. And keep staring at her, giving her my full attention, and ask a bunch of personal questions. The usual tacky pick up lines and stuff.”

“And that works? A corny pick-up line? “

“It worked for me so far.”

“Such as?” he asked, being a little shit. And good for him.

“Fuck, I don’t know, Cas. Anything. That’s the point of those. You don’t really have to over think it. It depends on the person. Their vibe. You can just compliment them on something. How physically attractive they are or—”

“Plainly as that?”

“No. Obviously, just—come on, dude. You know what I mean. Just, speak clearly and with confidence, and that’s it.”

“And what if she doesn’t?”

“Doesn’t what?”

“What if she doesn’t respond to your advances? We are to approach her at her work place, which is a club. This implies she probably gets hit on all the time.”

“I can be very persuasive,” said Dean smugly. Um, maybe a little too smugly.

“You still haven’t given me a proper example, Dean.”

He was not letting that shit go.

Dean sighed loudly and glared at him, annoyed. He bit his lips a moment and said, “Fine.” He leaned on his elbow, cleared his throat and locked eyes with Castiel. “I’m not doing the corny pick-up lines. But if I were to, um, do this with you, I suppose I’d start with your eyes.”

“Because it is the safest facial feature to comment on?”

“No. It’s because your blue eyes are what stands out the most for you. It was what I first noticed when we first met. How vividly blue there were. That’s what caught my attention.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. It’s borderline freakish. Never seen anyone with eyes like that. And I couldn’t help but stare. And I didn’t stop there.”

“What else?”

Dean attempted the best he could to hold down his grin, but he failed. “Your hair. I don’t know how, but you always look like you just rolled out of bed. But not in a bad way. Not like ‘you just dropped on your bed out of exhaustion’ bed hair. More like ‘you just had sex’ bed hair.”

He does. It’s effortless for him. And it’s really annoying. And a tad unfair for the rest of us.

“But I have to say, your lips are quite something too. They seem chapped, but the more I looked at them, the more I feel the need to verify if that’s true or not. I don’t think they are. I bet they’re real soft. Like some other parts of you.”

“I never had the impression you were examining me that intensely before.”

“I was. I just made sure you weren’t looking. But I paid attention. It actually came to a point where I didn’t even need to look at you. Recalling your face, your body shape, your build, every detail was imprinted in my brain.”

And just as Dean was tempted to cross the line (even though, I feel like that line had definitely been crossed in a way just now), he cleared his throat and said, trying to sound casual, “You know, stuff like that. Whatever.”

Castiel nodded and eyed every inch of his face for a moment. That made Dean slightly uncomfortable.

“I think it’s more than simply the exchange of words though,” said Castiel, finally. “I think there has to be a physical aspect of it as well.”

Dean snorted. “I mean, sure. It helps. Words are better. More direct.”

“You think so?”

And Castiel slid his hand on the table next to Dean’s. He didn’t hold Dean’s hand. He didn’t even touch it. He just brought it closer.

And he stared at him.

Dean tried his best to remain calm and act like this wasn’t a big deal. So he stared back at Castiel, almost like playing chicken, and waited to see what he would do.

He didn’t move his hand away. Nor did he reach for Castiel’s hand either.

He simply left his hand there. But, like, in a very obvious way. As if he intensively focused to ensure that not one muscle in his entire arm would move. No twitching. Or any nervous signs.

His arm played dead.

Castiel, amused, held a serious expression, and lifted his index finger. And let it drop.

Still without touching Dean.

While Dean had managed to remain still, his eyes had lowered and followed the motions of Castiel’s finger.

Castiel lifted his finger again, and this time, he gently—and I mean, barely—slid it along Dean’s index finger.

Dean still hadn’t moved. But he held his breath and his mouth opened slightly.

Castiel studied him a moment, and then smoothly eased his chair closer to Dean’s. He mildly lifted his hand, and barely grazing his skin, Castiel ran his fingertips on the back of Dean’s hand. To his wrist. His arm. And by the time he reached his shoulder (which was his right—uninjured—one), his entire hand slid past it, up to his neck.

Dean swallowed.

And just as Castiel seemed to direct his finger down to his collarbone, he felt Dean tremble, withdrew his hand and grabbed his drink.

Dean took the opportunity to finally move his hand, and brought it closer to himself. He cleared his throat, and in a ridiculous attempt to seem unaffected, he said, “That’s it?”

And took the last bite of his sandwich.

While he thought he had gained one over Castiel, what followed proved him wrong.

Castiel smiled at the corner of his mouth and said, in a low voice, “You want more?”

Of course, that was not exactly what Dean had meant. And Castiel knew that. But now he found himself in a weird place. If he refused, it would then convey that he was full of shit

And if he accepted, it would then lead to the one place that, let’s face it, he had been desperately trying to avoid since Castiel had reappeared in his life.

Unless, he told himself, Castiel wouldn’t have the guts to follow through.

So, Dean caved in and said, “I just think that was a bit weak.”

I don’t know if he believed that would have slowed Castiel down, but it obviously didn’t.

Quite the opposite.

Castiel, with his right foot, nudged Dean’s chair away from the table, and the next thing Dean knew, he found himself facing Castiel, still seated in his chair. Resting a hand on one of Dean’s knees, Castiel slowly raised himself from his seat, and leaning in, he eased his other hand up Dean’s thigh to his stomach. To his chest. His shoulders. And by the time his hand had reached the back of his neck, Castiel’s face was not even an inch from Dean’s.

Like one mini tilt of his head and kissing him wouldn’t have been a problem at all.

But he stayed still. Not for long, but long enough to give Dean time to be lost in the moment, to breathe in his scent, wishing that Castiel’s hand would venture a little higher than his knee. So much so that Dean legit reached out to Castiel’s coat and tugged him closer. And totally slid his other hand underneath Castiel’s coat to his lower back.

Which he hadn’t realized he had done until Castiel said, “Dean?”

And Dean snapped out of it.

Embarrassed and turned on—I mean, come on—he let go of Castiel and hurriedly repositioned his chair in its initial position. He rested his hands on his thighs and looked ahead.

They remained quiet for a moment, until Castiel said, “I think you might be right. Perhaps words are better and more direct.”

Dean abruptly turned his head and shot him a look like “Are you fucking with me, right now?”

And yes, Dean. He was.

Dean, freaking out, gave him a nod as he was ready to move on from this conversation. Minutes following this, they left their, um, eatery, to get the codes and the informant.

Not that I want to spoil stuff or anything, but what I love the most about what just happened is that this whole exchange and strategy and stuff will turn out to be absolutely pointless.

Like, neither of them will get the chance to follow through with their so-called flirting skills. Like, what I’m saying is that, they pretty much flirted with each other for no reason at all.

Except maybe for my own personal entertainment.

Which I am grateful for.

Thankfully, getting the key codes had not been a hassle. They showed up in some dodgy bar ( most of the establishments in that station consisted of dives) and met Kip, Crowley’s inside man on Turbulentus. He subtly handed them one key card, and explained they would simply need to wave it at the entrance panel of the Levis’s HQ.

They weren’t too sold on that concept.

“Just, be quick and make it to portal slash teleportation designated area, which is directly to the left once you’re in. There will be chaos afterwards, but you just have to get in, take a few steps and then you’re there.”

He also told them exactly where to find their target.

The person they were to bring back with them was named Bela Talbot. Neither of them had ever heard of her before, but considering where she worked, and that she seemed to know enough about the Levis for Crowley to want a chat with her, she didn’t inspire much trust in her character.

The good news was that the club where they were to collect her from was actually not that far from their exit point. They would still have to leave the club, walk a good four blocks before reaching the front door of the Levis’ sweet home—which was still problematic—but at least they didn’t have to cross the entire station with her.

If she cooperated with them, they thought, this suicidal plan might even work out in the end.

It is good to remain positive on things. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

So they made their way through the station and reached the club where Bela worked.

They had been warned by Kip that entering this club was tricky. They let everybody in, but not everyone could make it to the ‘main floor.’ And if they wanted to reach their target, they would need to access the ‘main floor.’ Only a selected few were granted access given the _nature _of the club.

“What the hell does that mean?” asked Dean.

Kip smiled and after taking a good look at him, he said, “Don’t worry, Dean. I think you’ll do just fine. You both will,” he added, clearly checking out Castiel too. “You’re new. They’ll appreciate the new blood. And if you mention right off the bat that you know Bela, I think it will increase your chances. Unless you two don’t want to play along.”

Dean and Castiel exchanged a worried look.

“What exactly is that club?”

“Play along what?”

“Just—go with it,” said Kip, winking at them.

Twenty minutes later, following Kip’s directives, they entered the place with all the apprehension imaginable. Dean was ready to cut a bitch and Castiel was, honestly, ready roll with it.

Whatever it was they were expecting, however, was definitely not what they stepped into.

Like the idiots that they are, they were armed, psyching themselves up, two stupid seconds away from slapping each other, and then charged in, bracing themselves for some really disturbing stuff.

But all they saw was a bunch people lying on large cushions and luxurious divans, being tended to by half naked people.

Castiel snorted and smiled.

And Dean’s jaw dropped and he gawked at the scene before him.

“Welcome. You wish to enjoy the festivities for two?”


	5. The Target

I am very pleased to say that they followed Kip’s instructions and went along with it.

“Um, yes,” said Dean. “We, um, we know Bela. Is it—um…”

“We would like to speak to her, if that is all right,” clarified Castiel.

“Ooooh,” said the welcoming clerk. “Doesn’t work like that. But I’ll make sure to inform her that her friends stopped by.”

Dean pursed his lips. Announcing their arrival to their potential kidnapping victim wasn’t exactly part of the plan.

“In the meantime,” said the clerk, whom I’d like to mention was only wearing a see-through robe, “should I direct you to the _waiting _area?”

“Absolutely,” said Dean, before the guy had even finished his sentence.

“Eager, I see.”

They crossed the floor, passing by the many occupied booth, tables, divans, and whatnot where people displayed no signs of shyness in whatever was happening. Castiel observed the room with attention, not so much on what the people were doing, but rather focused on other details like locating exit doors and how many security agents stood around the room.

With a brief glance, he counted no less than eleven guards and only one door at the end of the large room, which he deduced most likely led to the “main floor” area.

Which was somewhat problematic. Even if they could reach Bela, coming back this way wouldn’t be advised. He noticed five large curtains to the left, which were all paired up with their own guard. Something told him that the curtains weren’t covering windows.

As for Dean, he was focusing all his attention on the back of their naked guide’s head. He wasn’t observing how people were occupying their time around them, nor was he scanning the place for security measures like Castiel was. He just stared at the head of the guy in front of them.

Their guide came to a halt, once they stood next to a pair of ottoman. Which were located smack in the middle of the room.

Dean swallowed and anxiously glanced around. He then noticed to their left a couple stepping out from behind one of the large curtains.

“Um, can we—is there somewhere more…private?” he asked.

The man lifted his eyebrow and shot a look at Castiel.

“He’s shy,” Castiel explained.

“I’m not—just, um, what about over there? It seems like it’s a little more, um…”

“Intimate?”

“I was going to say not as public. Private, you know.”

The guide mischievously smiled and said, “It is. It’s extra though.”

“Not a problem,” blurted out Dean.

And their host nodded, and brought them towards the fourth curtain. He pulled on it, and with a smile, he gestured for them to enter.

“I’ll notify Bela. Have fun.”

And those two lucky bastards stepped in.

The second the curtain fell behind them, a brunette woman was being handsy all over Castiel’s chest, who had zero issue with it, while Dean was gently trying to protest against the black-haired woman who was running her hands over him. Because he’s proper like that.

His hesitation lasted about three seconds.

Castiel was pushed down into a red velvet chesterfield couch, and Dean dropped on a leather chaise lounge, facing Castiel.

One woman installed herself cozily on Castiel’s lap and started kissing his neck.

Dean’s attention was suddenly turned to the woman who had taken it upon herself to kneel in front of him. She lifted his shirt up and gave him long, wet kisses on his lower abdomen, right above the edge of his pants.

He also then felt strong manly hands started to rub his shoulders. Dean—because he’s Dean—jolted, quickly turned to look around and saw a half-naked man standing behind his seat, smiling down at him. “I got you, dear. Relax.” The man pulled him back in his seat and continued massaging his shoulders. Dean was about to object, but he suddenly couldn’t help but feel like this was actually kinda nice.

Like, really nice.

Like the kind where he let himself go and shut his eyes for a moment, as he was biting on his bottom lip to hold down noises.

When he felt the woman’s mouth on his covered cock, he reopened his eyes to take a look. The first thing he saw, however, was Castiel getting busy with the woman on his lap. He was kissing her shoulder, pulling down slowly on whatever stupid small amount of material she had to cover herself.

But he was doing it with his eyes locked on Dean.

And the moment Dean realized that detail, Dean’s heartbeat grew faster, and he licked his lips without thinking.

Castiel, still kissing the woman’s shoulder and running his hands on her back gently, smirked at Dean’s reaction.

The man behind Dean leaned in and was now kissing his neck to his right, licking it all the way to his ear.

And the next thing he knew, Castiel mimicked the man’s actions on the woman on his lap. She twisted her hips against him, pulled on his hair to expose his jaw, and got busy with her tongue.

Dean lifted his hand and tugged on the man’s hair and, while making sure to not break eye contact with Castiel, started to lick the man’s jaw.

Castiel was smiling.

Dean let go of the man, sat himself up and gripped the end of the couch. Although his pants were still on, the woman was tending to his erection by rubbing her hand over it. Dean slowly began to move his hips, following Castiel’s rhythm.

With their eyes still locked.

Ignoring everyone around them.

And then Castiel let out a very faint moan, and Dean tightened his grip on the chair, breathing heavily.

Those two idiots were getting off on each other by proxy.

And just as Dean was severely considering the idea of freeing himself from the craving hands on him, moving the woman on Castiel’s lap aside, and pretty much taking her place instead, the curtains were abruptly drawn back, and their guide, with no sense of timing whatsoever, announced, “Gentlemen? You have been granted access.”

Isn’t that fucking great?

Let me tell you, they should have stayed there.

Instantly after his declaration, their three friends stepped away from Castiel and Dean, smiled at them warmly and said, “Next time.”

It took them a few moments to put themselves back together.

Castiel wiped his mouth and Dean fixed his shirt.

But to Dean’s great annoyance, Castiel did nothing about his hair situation and it took him about everything he had to not simply push everyone out of their section for them to be alone.

But with this in mind, he did what he always did when such thoughts about Castiel overtook him, and he reminded himself of what Castiel had done all those years ago, thus convincing himself that none of this was a good idea.

It was actually a horrifying idea, considering everything, and he should put it out of his head stat.

So he took a deep breath, cleared his throat and exited their section.

And as he walked next to Castiel, towards the large door at the end of the room, leading to the ‘main floor,’ he stupidly repeated himself that he didn’t need him. Nor that he desired him.

Which, of course, I don’t need to tell you, was a fucking lie.

As for Castiel, he simply contented himself with the spectacle that Dean had given him, admitting that it had been much more than what he ever thought he would get out of him, and then refocused his mind on their task.

I swear those two.

The infamous ‘main floor’ actually looked rather standard. Like, the vibe of where they had come from was far dodgier than whatever was occurring in this part of the club.

This almost appeared formal, even. The lights were dimmed. And even if the room was extremely spacious—containing over thirty small round tables—it did have a tiny vibe of confinement.

But still.

The guests were simply seated and sharing a meal. Nothing weird or suspicious. Like couples sharing a quiet, romantic evening over a meal and champagne.

There was a bar section at the far end of the room, but no one was seated at the counter.

The whole place seemed decent.

That being said, you know those moments where you think this is too good to be true? And there’s this weird pit in your stomach and you’re plagued with the sudden urge to get the fuck out of there asap, otherwise you might regret it?

Yeah, so that was more or less what Dean and Castiel were experiencing in that moment, and yet, they knew that they couldn’t leave without their target.

So they nervously took a seat at an empty table, and scanned the room quickly, searching for her, while trying to not look conspicuous.

Soon enough, a woman with big eyes and dark blond hair showed up at their table.

“Gents? I’ve been told you were looking for me. What’s this about?”

Well, at least that part hadn’t been that difficult. Thank goodness for small graces.

Which I’m sorry to say, stopped right there.

“This is going to sound weird,” said Dean, “but, um, is it okay if you sit down with us for a moment?”

She sighed. “Look, I don’t really have time for this. If you want to—” she started saying, but the rest of her sentence died in her throat once her eyes fell on Dean’s wrists.

She glanced at Castiel and noticed he was also wearing a teleporter bracelet. That kind, specifically. She looked around the room nervously, and sat down at the table.

She took a deep breath and said, obviously trying to remain calm, “Where did you get those?”

“A gift. From a friend. Sort of.”

Her jaw clenched. “In exchange for what?”

Yeah, so, evidently, there was no fooling that one. She wasn’t stupid, far from it, and now, Dean and Castiel didn’t have that many options left. They could either try to reason with her in the hope that she’d agree to follow them. Or they could go with the crazy option: try to catch her and leave the place quickly.

Castiel eyed the walls of the room for a quick exit.

It wasn’t promising.

But better than where they had come from. At least there were large windows to consider. No doors, however. Besides the one next to the bar, which seemed to be the bathroom.

They knew their first option, appeal to her, was the best scenario. And then Dean noticed she had a brand on her wrist. The second he noticed it, she moved her hand away, out of sight.

Dean cleared his throat and jumped in, “Look, this—we’re not gonna lie to you, this is weird. And so not…but we need your help.”

“Do you?” she said angrily.

“We need you to come with us. Calmly. I—I don’t know what kind of situation you got around here,” he said with the kindest eyes he could master, “but if you come with us, we can get you out this station. We won’t hurt you.”

“And what about whoever you’ll hand me over to?”

“They just want to talk to you.”

She snorted. “Right.”

“It’s true,” said Castiel. “It might be problematic, but we can stay with you when they do so, if that would reassure you.”

She frowned. “Mate, I don’t even trust either of you. How is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“Fair enough.”

She breathed in deeply, and after a short moment of reflection, she said, “I have three questions first.”

Well, it was better than what they were expecting so far, so they nodded for her to ask away.

“How are we supposed to get o—proceed?”

In one short sentence, they explained their insane exit strategy. She wasn’t impressed. Obviously.

“You must be joking.”

“I’m afraid not. If we leave here calmly, without attracting too much attention to ourselves, we have a shot.”

“What are your other questions?”

“What do you get out of this?”

They shared a worried look.

“We are in trouble. If we do this, we will be given answers and aid to restore our lives,” said Castiel.

“Sort of.”

“And who is being so generous with you? Who seeks to speak with me?”

“Crowley.”

She flinched at his name. She shook her head and said, “No.”

“What? Why? We thought—”

“You—you don’t understand. I—no. Don’t make me. I—why are you trusting him?”

“Um, to be frank, we don’t really trust him that profoundly, but so far everything he said was—”

“Do not trust him.”

Things weren’t going well. That was about the last thing they were expecting her to say and the conversation was getting depressing by the second.

“We don’t have a choice. Okay? Look, I’m not saying he’s not shady, but compared to the rest of the psychos we had to deal with lately, he’s actually the only one who helped us out. Sort of.”

She leaned in towards the table and hissed, “Crowley _is _the reason why I am in this sordid place to begin with. He put me here. If he wants me out it’s because I failed him, which means he’ll kill me, or because he doesn’t have any more use for me here, which also means he’ll kill me once I tell him everything he wants to hear.”

This sounded a little too much dramatic for Castiel and Dean. It was rather extreme. And they didn’t know what to think. While they didn’t necessarily trust Crowley, as they had stated, they thought he sounded rather believable in his claim.

And it wasn’t like they knew Bela any better. She was certainly convincing, shaking all over and looking terrified, but they thought she could also be lying.

None of this really mattered, as the point remained that they needed Miss Talbot to follow them to Crowley’s, or everyone would be in big trouble real soon.

She tapped the table with her finger, and said, looking them straight in the eyes, “Do not trust Crowley. It will be the last thin—”

And then, before she finished her sentence, some serious shit went down.

A faint commotion rose around them, a few screams were heard, and then, out of nowhere, someone flew by their table, pulled out a giant sword and swung it in Castiel’s direction.

Dean yelled Castiel’s name with horror, and instinctively tugged him towards him, away from the man’s aim. But to Dean and Castiel’s surprise, the mysterious attacker wasn’t after Castiel at all.

He was after Bela.

This was a really great thing otherwise that would have probably been the end of Castiel.

It certainly, however, was the end of Bela as her head was cut off and it rolled onto the floor.

I know this is dramatic and now I feel like I should have warned you.

Sorry. I’ll try to do that next time.

Anyway, everyone started screaming and running in every direction. In the chaos, the assassin had lost his sword and many people were knocked down. Dean got nudged away and Castiel was pushed to the ground, right next to the body gushing blood.

The assassin stood in front of Castiel.

“That was your lucky day,” he snarled at him, “you could ha—”

But Castiel never knew why that was his lucky day as this guy pretty much dropped on the floor, dead, right next to his victim. Déjà vu.

The (new) murderer had picked up the sword and had killed the previous assassin with his own weapon.

“He doesn’t get the right to end you. Or to let you go. Not you.”

That person though, who was wearing a boring black suit, looked pissed. This was personal. Dean, fighting the current of the crowd, was trying to reach him, but the guy was already waving the sword at Castiel.

Castiel, though still on the floor, and clearly exposed, expertly dodged his attack.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Soon enough, however, no matter how swift he was, Castiel got cornered. Dean, still desperate to reach him, noticed he had a cut on his cheek and on his arm, and the attacker had his foot pressing on his stomach.

“You,” he said. “You’re gonna pay for what you did.”

He lifted his arm, ready to slash the final blow like the dramatic asshole that he was, but then Dean appeared out of nowhere and seized the foe with his bare hands and pushed him off Castiel.

Castiel, gasping for air, hurried himself to his feet, worried to death about Dean.

But through the commotion, Dean had managed to free himself from the attacker and was fighting against the crowd once more to reach Castiel.

Castiel gripped his jacket and yanked him towards him. They had a good five seconds when they stared silently at one another, assessing each other’s state. Besides superficial cuts, Castiel was perfectly fine and so was Dean.

And then all the lights went out, loud terrified screams roared around them, and a massive amount of blaster shots were fired. A large group of men started rushing in. At first the boys thought it was Henriksen (again), but no. This wasn’t Henriksen. They weren’t mercenaries. These guys had their own emblem. With a giant “K” over their chests.

Dean swore under his breath, clutched onto Castiel’s hand and briskly dragged him along towards one of the windows.

In an absolute fucking panic, he grabbed a chair and threw it at the window.

A loud thud was heard, but the chair simply bounced back.

“FUCK.” He picked up the chair again. “Cas, help me!”

“Dean, wait—”

“We need to run. Please, help.”

Castiel did as he was told, but he was still curious. “That’s not—who is that?” he asked, after they both hit their chairs against the window, which shattered in million pieces.

“Just run,” Dean urged him as he pushed him through the window. Many other people who were still stuck inside started doing the same.

Standing in the street, Castiel was helping Dean through the window. It didn’t take them long to notice that whatever they had just left behind was occurring in nearly every establishment on the street.

Well aware that they had less than slim chances to get out of this place, they nevertheless didn’t linger and disappeared down the street as fast as they could, praying no one was paying attention to them.

Heading towards the Levis’ HQ, they slowed down their pace after the third street they crossed.

Out of breath, Castiel said, “You saved me.” Still walking, he turned his head to Dean with wide eyes. “Why?”

Dean focused up ahead and remained silent, until Castiel came to a halt and pulled on his sleeve to stop him.

“Dean, why did you do this? You had all the reasons in the world to not do this. Why?”

Dean stared at him with a glum expression on his face. And after a short pause, he said, “I owed you. You saved me before. When you freed us from Henriksen. Now, we’re square.”

He tried to shove him off, but Castiel, despite the fact that he felt like crap, like the equivalent of having been ran over, still managed to hold on to Dean strongly enough, and pulled him closer.

“Are you sure that’s why?”

Dean swallowed. “Yes.”

“Well, I have bad news for you, Dean. If that’s how you see it, then me helping you out with Henriksen should have been me owing you from way before that. Which means that this, what you just did, was unnecessary.”

“Look, forget it okay. Like I said, we’re square.”

And he took a step back. And Castiel let him.

“We have bigger problems now,” argued Dean. And he wasn’t wrong about that. “The one sleezy bastard who was maybe gonna help us, will definitely not help us now as we failed our mission. We were supposed to bring her back alive and she ain’t breathing. Which by the way, what the fuck?” He sighed loudly. “So now, not only do we still have no idea where to go or find answers, but we have another person breathing down our necks. Fuck! Why does this bullshit keep happening to us?” He let out a scream of frustration. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know. Let’s just try to get off this station first,” he said as they started to walk again.

Which totally sounded like a legit plan.

Unfortunately, they both immediately fell to the ground, shaking and in pain, after they both simultaneously got zapped in their backs.

Dean, face on the muddy ground, saw Castiel lying next to him with his eyes shut. His body still spasmed from the shocks. Dean could still hear screams around him, and then a pair of boots approached right next to Dean’s head. With a colossal effort, he lifted his head to see who it was, praying it wasn’t Henriksen.

It wasn’t Henriksen.

“Hello, chaps. So nice of you to drop by.”

The man was wearing a nice suit. The kind you don’t wear in that type of place or you will stain it.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean mumbled.

“Arthur Ketch. Pleasure.”

And not to be this person, but I have to cut this here for now.


	6. A Chat with the Chaps

And I’m back. Sorry. I needed a break to grab food. Because I know what’s coming and I’m not cutting in the middle of that part.

So, after his short encounter with Mr. Ketch, Dean was rendered unconscious once more, face down in the mud.

The next thing he knew, he woke up on a high-tech ship, tied down to a table in a glass cell. The light was bright and Dean’s head was killing him. The room was cool and the fact that he was in his underwear didn’t help the matter. His feet and fingers were frozen and he felt cold sweat down his neck.

Castiel, well, he had survived and was in the cell right next to Dean’s.

The moment Dean had woken up, the glass separating their cells slid into the wall, thus creating one large cell. People wearing lab coats rolled their tables next to each other, and after accessing a panel on the wall, both tables boosted themselves up, until Castiel and Dean were both vertical again.

With their feet, wrists and torsos tightly bound to the table, of course, but at least they could see what was going on around them.

Turning his stiff neck, Dean took a good look at Castiel. That was when he noticed the state Castiel was in. And took note of his additional injuries.

Yes. While he had been fine once they had left the club’s scuffle, it appeared that since their apprehension in the streets, Castiel had apparently been mishandled.

His left temple had a large cut, his bottom lip was swollen, and there was a distinctive bruise near his right eye.

And while he was sure a few of the rest of his injuries had been caused by the psycho who had attacked him at the club, the giant dark purple bruises on his torso—which were still discernable despite the tattoos covering most of its surface—ribs, arms, and shoulders had clearly been the work of someone else.

Which pissed Dean off beyond belief. After his stomach dropped at the sight, his jaw clenched as he looked around, ready to unleash his frustration at whoever had been responsible for this.

But before he was awarded the chance to do any of that, one of their lab-coat-wearing captors started sticking things on his temples, chest and wrists.

He looked at Castiel and he could see they were doing the same to him. It was just small, round stickers. No wires linked to it. Not anything scary.

But something told him that he would most likely not enjoy whatever was coming next.

Heads up: he didn’t.

He was sweating heavily. Strong hands leaned his head back, and a strap slid over his forehead keeping him still.

Three people, two men and a woman, wearing suits came into the room and the rest of the staff, who had tended to Dean and Castiel’s restraints, immediately made themselves scarce.

You know, nothing too worrisome to witness.

“Mr. Winchester. So glad you could join us,” said the petite blond woman. She took a seat behind the desk that was facing them both. “We wondered for a while.”

“This is Lady Bevell,” said a tall man with dark hair. “I’m Arthur Ketch, as you may remember.”

“I remember,” he hissed.

“Good.” He turned towards his other colleague and said, “And this is Mr. Davies,” who nodded politely.

“Do you know who we are?” he asked them both.

Unable to shake their heads, Castiel and Dean both said, “No.”

“We are the BMoL.”

Castiel shut his eyes and held his breath, while Dean swore loudly.

“You understand why you’re here, then?”

Their silence gave Ketch the confirmation he needed. He glanced at Bevell, who nodded to him as well, and he took a step forward.

“I’ll skip the introduction then and get right to the point. I must confess that at first,” he said, “we were going to interview the both of you separately. You know, good old intimidation tactic. The ‘he said, he said’ thing, and then turn—”

Hold on. One minute. I just need to clarify that the BMoL, for those of you who don’t know, are usually massive dicks.

Yeah, okay. I guess that one was obvious.

But what is important to note here, is that the reason why they, the BMoL, had taken the trouble to burst through Turbulentus—which is not a fucking joke—was specifically to get to Castiel and Dean. They didn’t just happen to raid the place in general and come across them.

No. They were purposely there for the boys.

Which is really fucking bad.

Also, the BMoL is a very powerful federation. It’s cooperating with Venandi, but they kind of hate each other. They share common goals, but they don’t always agree on their choice of methods. So, allies, but like total frenemies.

One of the things they disagree on is how to treat their criminals. Their prisoners. And BMoL uses one method that Venandi absolutely refuses. You got it: cryo sleep.

I don’t know if you remember, but Henriksen’s little speech that morning…he had mentioned that Purgatory was owned by three different federations.

BMoL was one of them.

So basically, they were kind of pissed that all their prisoners got lost. And not only was the whole thing pinned on Dean and Castiel, as we know, but friendly reminder that Castiel was actually their prisoner. He was captured and charged under their jurisdiction.

So yeah. This was not good. They were mad. And they wanted fucking answers.

And now I’m going back to Ketch’s annoying speech.

“I’ll skip the introduction, then and get right to the point. I must confess that at first,” he said, “we were going to interview the both of you separately. You know, good old intimidation tactic. The ‘he said, he said’ thing, and then turn you both against each other. But once we got a closer look at who we were dealing with, we decided that perhaps having a double interview might be much more beneficial in the end.”

His eyes bounced from Castiel to Dean, and a faint smile appeared on his face.

“The interview is very simple,” said Bevell. “After a short warm up session, to acclimate ourselves with your behavioral patterns, we will proceed with the actual interview, which consists of you answering questions with yes or no. We may demand of you to elaborate on certain questions, depending. We are monitoring you closely,” she said, lifting an unused sticker. “This is our technology. We can tell if you lie or not. If you are lying,” Bevell pressed on the monitor.

Dean’s entire body shook, as a painful shock spread through him. His eyes had shut tightly by reflex and the horrid pain had cut off his breath for a moment.

Once inhaling was possible again, he reopened his eyes. It was exactly what had hit them in the street of Turbulentus. But far more effective and therefore far more painful. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes and his breathing was erratic. And with one glance at Castiel, who was stirring, Dean understood that they wouldn’t last very long after a few of those zaps.

“When we apprehended you on Turbulentus, we stung you with one of these,” said Ketch, grabbing his weapon. It pretty much looked like a blaster, just with more stylish, perhaps. “Essentially, it embedded you with an implant that allows us to electrocute you by one push of a button.”

“I don’t think I need to tell you,” Bevell continued, “that this is the outcome you want to avoid. The same will happen if we don’t like your attitude, you are uncooperative or you become agitated. Got it?”

“Let’s have a test run for you. And since Prisoner 4010918 needs a moment to catch his breath, let’s start with you, Dean,” said Ketch. He stepped forward again. “Let’s begin with an easy one. Are you Dean Winchester from Venandi?”

“Yes.”

“Are you part of a Prime Family of Venandi?”

“Yes.”

“Are you on the council?”

“No.”

Ketch paused.

“The eldest child of your family?”

“Yes.”

“Are your parents alive?”

“No.”

“Are you then not in line, as the eldest of your family, which is one of the Prime Families of Venandi, to take a seat on the council?”

“Yes.”

“But you are not part of the council?”

“No. I am not.”

“Is this about your brother?”

Yeah, so this guy seriously needed to chill with his fucking questions if he wanted Dean to remain calm because all this was simply agitating him.

And because not that many people, Dean included, had the opportunity to say something so far, can I just say something about Sam?

The thing is that he got in with the wrong crew. And it wasn’t his fault. I swear, it wasn’t.

Let me tell you something: Sam is a smart cookie. The guy with an amazing tush, is smart. Like, he got the brains. I think he got all the package, but I realize I might be digressing right now.

The point I’m trying to make is that the fact that Sam got wheeled in like that wasn’t because he was stupid. It was because the arrogant fuckers who got him knew exactly what they were doing.

And I could go on for hours about this, but for now, I’ll go back to the assholes Castiel and Dean had to deal with.

“Is this about your brother?” he repeated.

“No.”

And to everyone’s surprise, Dean didn’t get zapped.

“All right then. Bevell, need more?”

“No.”

“Let’s try a few more elaborate questions and then we’ll get to the good part. Tell me where the Purgatory prisoners are?”

“We don’t know.”

Ketch lifted an eyebrow and moved his eyes to Castiel for a second. “Speaking in ‘we?’ How romantic. My heart is growing sizes just hearing it.”

“Fuck you. I don’t know anything.”

Bevell pressed on her monitor again and Dean’s entire body stiffened at the shock.

“How did you two plan this?”

“We didn’t plan shit.” He almost regretted his outburst, but thankfully, Bevell didn’t zap him again.

“See, that’s what I believed at first. The _we _part, I mean,” said Ketch. “I thought you had schemed this thing on your own, Dean, and just decided to have a bit of fun on the side.”

“Fuck you.”

“After all, teaming up with people,” he continued, “isn’t really your M.O.”

Dean was really tired of people like Henriksen and this brand-new acquaintance Ketch flaunting that idea of himself in his face.

“Like you fucking know anything about me,” he snapped at Ketch.

“Oh, but I do, Dean. We do.” His eyes were glued on him as he walked slowly towards him. “You’re a loner, Dean. You repel company. You distance yourself from everyone you know. Whatever it is you do, you do it on your own. Sure, you have friends, colleagues and whatnot like everybody else. But you still keep to yourself. And the jobs you do, they can purposely be executed on your own. That’s the way you like it. I’m just curious, is it because people disgust you so much deep down that you cannot stand anyone’s company?” He advanced closer still. “Or is it because they are a constant reminder of what you are not?”

Dean looked at him with lasers in his eyes.

“I’m asking,” he whispered so low to his ear that his colleagues didn’t hear him, “because I never know which one of the two it is for me.”

He leaned back to observe him. Dean didn’t need to be zapped for that one. This is one of those things that will traumatize him for the rest of his goddamn life. You know when you hear something so fucking creepy? So haunting?

Yeah. That.

“Mr. Ketch,” warned Davies.

Ketch distanced himself from Dean and headed towards the desk. “What exactly inspired you to keep the prisoner with you?”

Dean remained silent.

“Look, it’s not complicated,” said Bevell. “You either both planned this a long time ago or Mr. Winchester made a friend along the way. We’d like to know why prisoner 4010918—who, by the way, has a massive amount of discrepancies in his record—was the only prisoner left behind. After you both escaped Henriksen’s gang, you could have easily gone your separate ways. But you didn’t. We considered the idea that you could have kept him as a hostage, but after looking at his vitals—we had to, as he did look rather glum—we realized that…well, considering _what _he is, him being your hostage would be quite ridiculous.”

Dean tried the most he could to not show any indication of how her last comment about Castiel puzzled him. He kept a straight face and fought the massive urge he had to glance at Castiel.

“If anything,” she continued, “you’d be the one to be the hostage.” She studied him for a moment, in a very dramatic way, probably hoping Dean would elaborate, but he kept his mouth shut. “But that doesn’t seem to be the case either,” she finally added. “If it was a rescue, then I really don’t understand why you both would have lingered behind. So, as we were saying, this leaves us with you two in cahoots for this job. We’re just not exactly sure why.”

“The only reason why Commander Henriksen reached the cargo ship before us was because he was on your trail, Dean. It wasn’t until he had you both as prisoners that we even knew Purgatory was in trouble,” admitted Ketch. “That’s quite the exploit as we make a point of knowing everything.”

“So you can imagine how this turn of events is really annoying to us,” said Davies.

“We’ll find out one way or another,” said Ketch. “You have the answers, chaps. Don’t make it so damn difficult for yourself.”

Dean swallowed and Castiel lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

Ketch sat himself at the corner of the desk, and after a dramatic pause, he said coldly, “Lady Bevell, Mr. Davies, let’s move on to the interview.”

“Gladly.”

“Dean, you’re up. Yes or no. You know what happens if you lie. So, I’m asking again: do you know where the missing prisoners are?”

“No.”

“Did you attack the prisoner cargo ship Purgatory7172?”

“No.”

“Did you free any of the prisoners on board?”

“No.”

Ketch squinted at him.

“Not even prisoner 4010918?”

“No.”

“Not even him?” he repeated, this time pointing at Castiel.

“No.”

Ketch pursed his lips, but continued, “Did you kill anyone on board?”

“No.”

“Were you acting on orders?”

“No.”

“Did you do this out of your own free will?”

“No—I didn’t do anything.”

Ketch paused and observed him. “Did you do this out of your own free will? Yes or no question.”

“I didn—”

Zap.

“Fuck, you ass—”

Zap.

“We’ll come back to that,” said Lady Bevell to Davies, who nodded and typed down something. “Let’s discuss how you got aboard the ship, shall we?”

“I don’t know.”

Zap. Dean had to take in a deep breath after that one. His hands were shaped into fists.

“I DON’T KNOW. I don’t remember.”

“Did anyone help you gain access aboard the ship?”

“Obviously, as I just told you, I don’t rem—”

Zap.

“ARE YOU FUCKING DONE WITH THAT ALREADY? I DON’T KNOW. I don’t know how—”

Zap.

Zap.

Zap.

It took poor Dean-o a moment to regain his speech functions. His vision became blurry and his ears were ringing. His back burned, for some reason, and breathing was difficult. When he finally came to, he noticed at the corner of his eye that Ketch was standing in front of Castiel.

“I would advise against that or we will simply raise the voltage,” he warned Castiel.

With great misery, Dean turned his head just a smidge, as much as he could in spite of the strap keeping him still. He saw that Castiel, still restrained tightly to his table, was slightly more to the left than he had been before, as if he had tried to free himself and had made the table move in the process.

Ketch regained his spot next to Bevell and told her, “Let’s ask the real questions.”

She nodded, typed a few things, and looked at Dean.

“Have you ever met prisoner 401918 prior to the cargo incident?” she said.

Oops.

Dean bit his inside cheek.

“Mr. Winchester, have you ever met prisoner 401918 prior the cargo incident?”

Nothing.

“You do realize your silence only indicates that you have. We would really like if you answer the question on record. Don’t make me ask again.”

“Yes.”

Ketch and Davies exchanged looks. “May I?” asked Ketch to Bevell and she nodded.

“How do you know each other?” he asked.

Dean swallowed.

“It was a long time ago.”

“When?”

“Years. Just under a decade.”

“And remained long friends ever since?”

“No,” he croaked.

“Excuse me?”

“We weren’t friends.”

“More than friends?”

“He tried to kill me. You tell me.”

Looks were exchanged. Ketch turned around for Bevell’s confirmation and she nodded.

“Prisoner 401918,” he said slowly, “made an attempt on your life?”

“Yes.”

“A decade ago?”

“Nearly a decade ago. Yes.”

Ketch looked gravely at Davies as if he had failed him. Davies, momentarily panicking, said, “There is no record of the incident. I reviewed Mr. Winchester’s file earlier today and there was nothing suggesting such a thing. Not on Venandi, not any—I swear.” He then turned to Dean, “How is there no record of the incident?”

Dean swallowed. Bevell was about to zap him again, but Ketch lifted his hand signaling her to wait. “Is it because you two are the only ones aware of the incident?”

“No.”

Davies frowned. “Then how is there no record of it? You’re one of the Prime Families. Such an incident would have been reported.”

Keeping his mouth shut, Dean held his breath, bracing for the pain to come, but nothing happened.

Ketch had stopped Bevell again, and she didn’t look happy about it.

“Dean? Talk.”

“The reason why there is no record is because it was erased from it,” he said slowly.

“You erased it?”

“No.”

“Prisoner 401918 did?”

“No.”

“Then, who?”

“The—the council.”

Okay, so now, everybody was super confused.

“Why?”

“Be—I don’t know who made the final decision—I really don’t—but I—I know the council did this to—because—shit!”

“Dean?”

He took a deep breath. “He escaped, okay? Ca—Prisoner…whatever. He tried to kill me. He got caught. The evidence was more than compelling and he was immediately sent to Carcerem. But he escaped.”

“What?”

“No one ever—”

“Escaped from Carcerem,” finished saying Dean. “Yeah, I know. But he did. And the—the council…they, um,” and he dramatically cleared his throat.

Ketch smirked. “They erased any record of the incident so no one would know their perfect prison is in fact flawed.”

Dean looked down.

“Is this why you’re not on the council?”

“No.”

“Really? Why—”

“Prisoner 401918, Mr. Ketch,” Davies reminded him.

“Right. Has Prisoner 401918 attempted such a thing again since your recent encounter?”

“No.”

“Was he holding you hostage?”

“No.”

“Was he blackmailing you or threatening you?”

“No.”

They paused for a moment and Ketch and Bevell discussed something between themselves. After glancing helplessly at Castiel, who was staring at the floor, purposely avoiding Dean’s gaze, Dean took a look at Davies, who was standing by the door, monitoring the situation. He remained quite still and impartial, but Dean felt something was up.

“We might come back to you Dean, but now we will now proceed to interview prisoner 401918”

“I’d advise you to remain quiet,” instructed Bevell to Dean. “Or you know what will happen.”

“Are you ready, prisoner 401918?”

“Yes,” croaked Castiel.

“Quick questions first. Same as Dean,” she said. “Based on our records, you were listed as human and apprehended in Abscondam, where you were sentenced to be kept in cryo sleep for a minimum of three decades, and this for the crimes of fraud and manslaughter.”

I really love how she mentioned fraud before manslaughter. You know, priorities.

“Imagine our surprise,” she continued, “when we realized an anomaly in our system indicating that there are two James Novaks listed in our records. This James Novak,” she said, projecting a frame onto the wall of a man in cryo sleep, “is serving his sentence at the facility we hold in our headquarters. You two look alike.”

She was right, thought Dean.

Though, after further observation, he also decided that Castiel’s hair was a little longer than James. Fluffier looking. The shape of his lips appeared to be different. And James’ cheeks seemed a bit hollower. A little frailer. And although his eyes were shut, and there was no way of knowing their color, Dean was convinced they were not as blue as Castiel’s. It was not possible.

Basically, after a quick reflection, Dean decided that this guy had nothing on Castiel and Bevell’s insinuation was almost insulting to him.

“And every single detail from your data is the same as his,” she continued. “We thought maybe it was a bug in the system. Embarrassing. Never happened before. But that would be fixable. All we needed was to figure out who you were and how your original records were erased. Or misplaced. But we checked your physiology while we were trying to put you back together earlier today, and now we are really…confused.”

I bet they were.

“You are not human.”

“It took us a while to figure it out because it’s really subdued. It’s still there, but barely.”

Now, Dean held his tongue, as he had promised he would, but he was hella confused.

Like, he did not see that one coming and he legit thought they were fucking with them.

“Did you do this to yourself in order to hide your identity?” asked Ketch.

And then Castiel said, “Which part?”

Bevell frowned.

And Dean didn’t believe what the hell was coming out of Castiel’s mouth.

“A lot of things happened to explain my condition,” added Catsiel.

“Your…condition. Why we can barely detect your true…form? Did you do this to hide your identity?”

“No.”

“Was it done to you?”

“Yes.”

Bevell held her stare a moment and swallowed.

“We’ll—we’ll come back to that later,” she said, after clearing her throat.

“Did you know Dean,” said Ketch, “prior to the event on Purgatory7172?”

“Yes.”

“He claims you attempted to kill him in the past. Is this true?”

“No.”

Dean frowned.

Bevell looked up and observed him. Ketch, who was waiting for her assessment, stared at her. She nodded her head and returned her attention to the monitor.

Ketch thought for a moment, and then said, “Have you met Dean on more than one occasion prior the event of Purgaotry7172?”

“Yes.”

“And on _any _of these occasions where you’ve met him, did you attack Dean Winchester, who is present here?”

“No.”

“Did you nearly kill him by accident?”

“No.”

“Did you attack him thinking he was someone else?”

“No.”

He sighed, frustrated. “Do you remember the attack in question Dean Winchester is referring to?”

“Yes.”

“And you did not try to kill him?”

“No. I never tried to kill him,” he blurted out. “I never attacked him. I never meant him any harm. I would never—I was trying to save him from his assailant. I saved him.”

Dean felt a giant pit in his stomach as his heartbeat increased.

Ketch turned once more to Bevell and she nodded her head again.

He glanced at Castiel. “It appears you’re telling the truth.”

“Thanks. I’m aware.”

Bevell pursed her lips.

“What? No zapping?” taunted Castiel.

She swallowed. And remained still. And did not zap him. Didn’t even think of doing it.

The thing was that Castiel woke up much earlier than Dean when they got caught on Turbulentus. Castiel came to when they lifted him from the muddy ground. He had snapped his eyes open, and the moment he saw Dean was being carried away, he freaked.

He put up a fight. Which explains his swollen lip and everything else. Despite all this, he remained conscious the entire trip to his neat little cell, and the agents who were charged with his care, they talked shit to him.

After all, they thought they had just recovered one of their dumb, helpless human prisoners.

Why not treat him like shit, they stupidly thought? It’s not like they cared for his life. If he was put in cryo sleep, they deduced, he probably didn’t even deserve to be breathing. And the only reason why he was still doing so in that moment, was because they needed answers to the fuck up on Purgatory.

Of course, these miscreants’ attitudes changed real fast once Castiel was hooked up to some machine and they discovered that he was not actually human.

And figured out exactly _what _he was.

Trust me, everybody shut their mouths after that and not one goddamn insult was uttered.

Never in their lives had they ever come across one of us. For good reason. Well, to be fair, maybe they had and they just didn’t know. Like Castiel. But I have to admit, he was a very different case. He is a special case.

The fact remained that they didn’t want to aggravate him. He had seen better days, far better days, and it had been a while since he had been top shape, but even then. They freaked. The fucking second they realized who—what—they had in their mitts, they knew they needed to tread carefully. The only reason why they could contain him was because they had caught him in a moment of weakness. Beaten up. And they really didn’t want to rile him up.

So, no. Bevell did not go all happy trigger with Castiel like she had with Dean. It would have hurt him, because like I said, he wasn’t in top shape. But it would have probably reached a point where it would have just pissed him off more than anything else.

And that’s not what they wanted.

And Castiel knew it.

Which was why he let out a small laugh at her silence.

Of course, Dean was still missing a few pieces of that puzzle, so he became real uneasy when he saw that Castiel was giving them attitude.

“Ca—” Dean began to say, but stopped himself at the last minute. Not because he feared what the BMoL agents would do to him. But because since they kept referring to Castiel as James Novak or prisoner 401918, he pretty much deduced that they had no fucking idea of his precise identity. And even though he seriously wasn’t sure he knew either, he wasn’t about to give them that one tidbit. “Don’t,” he pleaded to him.

Ketch, exhausted from the confusion, asked Castiel, “Before I get to the specifics of your escape from Carcerem, can you tell me what happened on that day? The day of the so-called ‘attack’?”

Castiel took a deep breath, and said, “I had been residing on Venandi for a short while and I—”

But they never got to hear the rest of his story because one of their colleagues, Miss Watt, stepped in and announced, urgently, that everyone needed to head to the main conference room.

Bevell left in a hurry, and while Davies showed a faint hesitation, he followed behind her.

Ketch, however, stayed behind and stared at the pair of them.

“Mr. Ketch. Time is of the essence,” Miss Watt said.

“Yes,” he muttered. His stare still on Dean and Castiel, he said, “I’ll be right with you. But can you send me a pair of assistants for a moment. We need to secure our guests’ restraints.”

She sighed. “You mean, even more so than the ones they have right now?”

“Yes.”

She let out a groan of exasperation and left. And Ketch stayed put. And quiet. Not even a minute later, a pair of young men wearing lab coats stepped into the room. Ketch gave them directives, and Castiel and Dean found themselves untied from those wretched table things.

To be chained to the wall.

Their feet and their wrists were still bound, but at least they could sit properly on a nice cool floor and their aching heads weren’t strapped anymore.

And after one last piercing look, Ketch left the room.

And now it was awkward.

“Do you think they’re listening?” asked Dean.

“Probably.”

Dean bit his lip. “So we shouldn’t share too much info.”

“It would be a wise idea. Perhaps.”

“Are you okay?” asked Dean.

“You were the one they tortured a moment ago. I’m the one who should ask you that question.”

Dean lowered his eyes. “It wasn’t pleasant. But I’ll live. But you—your face and—”

“Oh. That. It’s nothing, Dean. I don’t even feel it.”

They remained quiet and simply studied one another. Until Dean couldn’t hold it any longer and said, “Did you lie?”

“What?” grunted Castiel, trying to shift for a better position, but being tied to a wall, there isn’t really a good one.

“Did you lie? When they asked—did you cheat their test?”

Castiel, with the saddest eyes ever, shook his head slowly. “No, Dean. I wasn’t lying. I have never lied about that. I always maintained that I hadn’t harmed you. And I meant it.”

“But—I—Ca—I mean, what—I don’t understand. None of this makes sense. What happened that day?”

Castiel was super psyched to finally be able to have this conversation with Dean. Even if it was in a creepy cell where they were possibly monitored.

But this was not his fucking day to get the chance to do so.

Just as he was about to tell Dean the one thing he had been fucking sitting on this whole time, Davies showed up, interrupting them.

As frustrating as this may sound, this was actually a good thing.

For their current situation, I mean.

See, unlike most of those stuck up ass-hats of the BMoL, Davies was actually an okay guy. He had reservations on certain methods they were directed to follow.

He also wasn’t stupid and knew that Castiel and Dean had nothing to do with Purgatory and that they were most likely victims of circumstance.

He was also massively impressed to meet Castiel.

He was geeking out.

It’s kind of adorable.

And given the pitiful state Castiel had been in when they dragged him on board, he would be pretty upset if any additional harm would come to him.

And the same could be said for Dean. Davies actually liked Venandi and often wished the BMoL would chill on their hatred for them.

He promptly shut the door behind him and adjusted the settings to the room, thus turning the walls into a opaque, instead of transparent glass, to give them a moment of privacy.

He typed quickly on the panel and their bindings were then undone. He hurried towards them and helped them onto their feet.

He smiled shyly and stated that all their personal items were held in a box in the room adjacent theirs.

“And I mean, everything. Including your blade,” he said to Castiel. “And your blasters. And your _one of a kind _blaster. And your teleporters as well,” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

I get that you’re probably thinking that this was a trap. I get it. Trust me, it was what Dean and Castiel thought too.

But it wasn’t. I just told you Davies was a good guy. Castiel and Dean had a bit of trouble believing this, however.

“Why would you help us?” asked Dean, skeptical.

“I’ll explain later if I can, but for now, if you want to leave you have to go right away. While everyone important is busy. Something…came up and I fear your situation will only worsen if you stay here.”

“We still got those damn implants.”

“I will remove the implants, no issue. It will only take a moment.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Can you remove my tag?” asked Castiel, even though he knew the answer.

“I—I’m afraid I cannot help you with that. The implants are simply under the skin. The tag is more—permanent and—” Davies stopped speaking, swallowing hard.

“I know,” said Castiel, sighing. “I had to try. But even without the implants, we don’t still know where to go,” confessed Castiel.

“Where were you heading before?” Davies asked.

“A place that we really should avoid now,” answered Dean. “Which is why those teleporters are pointless for us. They will only bring us to Cr—somewhere we can’t go.”

“You can change the destination.”

“Not on those. They are…custom made. From the distributor.”

Davies leaned his head backwards, understanding what Dean was getting at. And then, shockingly, he lifted his left arm and revealed he was wearing one as well. Identical to the ones Crowley had given them.

“The BMoL have a certain agreement with Crowley. We scratched his back and he scratched ours,” he said. “I can explain how to change the settings and you can go anywhere you like.”

“That’s amazing,” said Dean, truly grateful, even though he knew it was pointless.

“We still do not know where to go,” added Castiel.

“I—I don’t mean to sound blunt, but do you still desire to find Missouri Moseley?”

“Um, how—”

“We know which stops you made before arriving on Turbulentus. As we said, it is our thing to know everything and I was thorough in reviewing your files.”

“We don’t know where Missouri is.”

“I know where she is.”

Again, I know this sounds like a trap, but it wasn’t. I swear. I am not lying.

After a short chat, Davies informed them of Missouri’s current whereabouts, and by some miracle, not even ten minutes later, Castiel and Dean had regained all of their personal items and clothes, had their implants removed (which took like three seconds), escaped their cell and the BMoL ship, and safely teleported onto a temple’s steps.

They were free.

For now.

Because drama.


	7. Explain Yourself

All right. Now, there were a few things that happened before they could finally stand in front of Missouri, but I’m going to skip that part.

Davies’ tip about her location was spot on. (Ha.)

She was apparently hiding out on Orationis. Which makes sense. Oracles are known to pay a visit from time to time.

But Augure and Orationis are pretty far from each other. Too far for teleportation. Plus, there’s some bullshit smack in the middle of that route that most people would prefer to avoid.

So you—fuck. My plan was to skip all this because I need to get going already, and here I am, blabbering non-stop.

So, as I was saying, Davies wasn’t lying about Missouri’s location. And his tip about their teleporters paid off too, especially since the BMoL’s spaceship wasn’t actually that far from Orationis. So teleportation wasn’t an issue.

But a few things occurred with Castiel and Dean before they could finally reach Missouri.

Orationis is friendly, but exclusive. Not in a snobbish kind of way, but just—they like their privacy. Their calm. To reflect and meditate.

(Are those the same thing? I honestly never know.)

Basically, barging in was not a good idea.

And that’s pretty much what Castiel and Dean had to do.

Sigh. Which caused issues. Like, the moment they set foot on that freaking planet. (Which is really beautiful. Lots of greenery. The few buildings they have are temples with housing nearby. Same sizes. Very chill place.)

But there was a tiny bit of arguing when they showed up. Dean had to repeat 72833 times that he knew Missouri Moseley and that he needed to speak to her immediately.

He also informed them that he was from Venandi. That’s when they caught onto who they both were and their problems just got worse.

But eventually they granted them access and brought them to Missouri. Not because they believed they were innocents. Not because they verified Dean’s credentials associated with Venandi. Or because they pleaded for asylum.

No.

It’s because these people are super sharp. Like extra-sensorial sharp. And unlike the BMoL—and literally the entire galaxy’s population—they took one look at Castiel and they knew who he was.

And that wasn’t freaking James Novak.

So they pretty much welcomed him in.

But just him.

Castiel argued for Dean’s access again, and eventually they caved in if they promised to only stay for a few hours.

You know, welcoming, but to a certain limit.

I guess on the bright side, no branding had been required this time.

A young girl brought them to a large temple. They followed her quietly as she guided them across a hall where they observed people standing still with their eyes closed. They seemed peaceful.

The young girl stopped once they reached the left-side garden, and then turned on her heels, leaving them there.

A woman nurturing the plants had her back to them. And without looking at them, without even acknowledging their presence in any way, she said, “Dean Winchester. It has been a while, but you are here at last.” And then she froze and added, “Oooh. And you’re not alone.”

She put her little watering can down in a super dramatic way, turned around for the first time and took a good look at them.

And smiled.

“Good. Because you’re gonna need all the help you can get. You both will.”

“Hi, Missouri,” said Dean, walking towards her. “I’m glad you’re okay. I—we stopped by your house. I was kind of—”

“Worried? Yeah. What else is new?” she said, laughing. “I’m fine, Dean. Takes a lot more than that to get to me. Now, let me look at you,” she said, staring at him while holding his hands. Her smile disappeared instantly. She shut her eyes a moment. “I’m sorry about Sam, honey. But you know he ain’t gone yet. You know that, right?”

Dean swallowed.

“He’s still fighting. I know he is. There’s still hope. And that’s what you need to remind yourself.” Dean was about to ask her if she knew where Sam was, but was stopped when she said, with a stern look on her face, “Hmm. I see you continue making dumb decisions even though you ought not to.”

“I don’t—don’t do that. All the time.”

“Uh-huh,” and she let go of his hands and turned her focus to Castiel. “And what do we have here. Come here,” she said, extending her hand. “I don’t bite.”

Castiel took a step forward, and she lifted her hand over his chest but didn’t touch him. She didn’t need to. She shut her eyes and took it in.

She let out a big deep sigh. She stayed that way for a few minutes until she reopened her eyes. “I—I am so sorry. I want to ask you who did this to you, but I don’t even know where to start. Cryo sleep, as god awful as it is, might almost have been a kindness considering the other stuff. _Almost_.”

“But I’m free now,” he said. “Or seemingly so.”

“Yes. For now. But you know you can’t run forever though, right? While most people will not know the difference, many know that you are not James Novak.” She brushed her finger just below the cut on his cheek. The one the assassin at the club had given him. “And some have already acted upon that knowledge.”

Castiel lowered his eyes, because he knew she was right. “And as for the rest, they were stupid before and they just didn’t understand what you are. That allowed you to lay low, but that won’t always be the case. Nor should it be.”

“I know. But I had no choice.”

“Okay,” said Dean. “Um, can I—can I just know…I mean—” and he stopped there, huffing and puffing with his hands resting on his waist.

Missouri looked at him, curiously. “You don’t know who and what he is?”

Dean bit his lips and met her eyes. And shrugged. Still watching him, she flinched and said, “Boy! You thought he tried to murder you?”

Dean opened his mouth, but when nothing came out, he cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed.

“This is Castiel,” she said.

“I know that part, thanks,” he said.

She shot him a look to keep his attitude in check. “Castiel the Fallen, they call him. His kind.”

“And who is that? What do you mean his kind? Why is everyone saying he’s—” he turned to Castiel, “that you’re—” and he let out a deep sigh.

“I mean his _kind_,” repeated Missouri. “He’s not a man. He’s part of a really ancient species. So old we don’t even know their original name. But they are powerful. Graceful.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am what you may refer to as a celestial being, Dean,” said Castiel calmly.

Dean’s face fell and he froze on the spot. “Wait,” he said, scanning every inch of Castiel’s face and then examining him as a whole. “You—you mean like—”

He swallowed.

“He’s part of the Host. Or also known as HoH. Yes,” said Missouri.

“No, he can’t be—they are extinct. If—if they ever were…”

“_Ever_?” said Castiel with a sad smile on his face. “Trust me, Dean. We were. And we still are. Just—” he began to say before lowering his eyes. “There are just not that many of us left now.”

And although I’m not one for the big family reunion—because most of my siblings are raging psychopaths—it literally kills me to admit that he’s right about that and it really fucking sucks.

Dean nodded his head frantically, processing a lot of shit at that moment, and said, “I need to sit down.”

And for about three seconds, he looked like he was almost about to pass out.

Until he didn’t. And that’s because his anger had just resurfaced.

“What the fuck,” he let out. “Why—why didn’t I know this? Like before. Hell, even since Purgatory or whatever.”

“I tried to tell you. Many times, Dean. But as you remember, your opinion of me was already shaped. You were not interested in what I had to say. So I didn’t say anything.”

“But before that. Like—on Venandi. When—why didn’t you say anything? And can you please,” Dean urgently added, “tell me what the fuck happened that day? Because none of this makes sense. I was attacked. I know I do a lot of reckless stuff. And yet, I never came close to biting it as I did on that day. I was found bloody and unconscious, barely breathing, with you kneeling over me literally with blood on your hands, next to the blade. In a place where only you knew where to find me and—”

And it got to be a little too much for Dean as he felt his voice breaking by the end of his sentence. So he turned around, unable to look at Missouri and Castiel any longer, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Like, I actually trusted you,” he whispered.

Missouri stared at both dummies and said, as she shook her head, “I see you two have a lot of things to talk about. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait, Missouri—I,” mumbled Dean, “I—I have a few questions about—”

“And we’ll get to that part,” she told him in a kindly manner. “But _after _you talk to one another because if I have to be exposed to these misunderstandings and repressed feelings one more second I’m gonna smack you both.” She lifted her eyebrow and left the garden to give them privacy.

After a few minutes of silence, both indulging in their stubbornness, Castiel finally stepped up and whispered Dean’s name.

And the other dork stayed put.

“Dean, can you look at me?”

He was a stubborn dork, but the reason why Dean had remained in that position wasn’t because he hadn’t wanted to speak to him. Quite the opposite, as he had just desperately blurted out a bunch of questions not even five minutes before.

The reason why he had remained with his back turned to Castiel was because, whatever excuses he was piling up in the back of his brain to resist him, he knew the moment he freaking looked at him, those excuses wouldn’t do shit anymore.

Especially if Castiel had a legit explanation about that infamous day.

“Dean?”

He took a deep breath and turned around to face Castiel.

Castiel hadn’t even said anything yet, and Dean already felt his knees weakening.

Like, the guy never stood a freaking chance.

“I meant what I said,” began Castiel, “when I said I had not tried to kill you. I wasn’t lying. I—I arrived there to—I was hoping to meet you. But when I got there, you were already on the ground. Your attacker had rendered you unconscious, and if—if I had arrived a moment later, he—he,” Castiel stopped speaking, unable to consider the thought. He lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. “I pushed him off of you and disarmed him, but he freed himself from my grip. I was left with two choices. One, go after him and catch him, but leave you bloody on the ground. Or two, let him go and try to save you. I—my powers—abilities, they aren’t what they used to be, but—”

“Powers?”

Castiel lifted his eyes and nodded. “Sort of. It’s complicated. I—anyway, that’s not important right now. The point is that I couldn’t leave you there. Alone and—not like this. So I stayed. And I poured all of the energy I could master into you to save you. That’s why I was kneeling over you. That’s why my hands were bloody and why it looked like—and even after all this, you still barely made it.”

Dean reflected on what Castiel had told him for an instant. “If that’s the case, Cas, why didn’t you say anything about it after that? When the guards caught you. Arrested you. Why didn’t you say anything about the other assailant? About your powers and when I visited—fuck, why?”

“I couldn’t.”

Dean stared at him with exasperation. “Why the fuck not, Cas?”

And he took a long, deep breath, and said with anxious eyes, “Because of who I am.”

Dean frowned. “You—you mean the HoH?”

He nodded. “To begin with, yes.”

“Why? Why is this an issue? I don’t understand.”

“We don’t like to advertise it.” He’s right about that. I like my anonymity about that shit. “It’s—it’s already complicated on principle, but for me it’s…stating I am of the HoH is not even the main problem. It is who I am within the Host.”

Dean shook his head. “Cas, you have to be clearer than this, because I—I don’t understand.”

“Dean, it’s a really long story.”

“Then simplify it. Please. I want to know why you preferred being sentenced and branded a murderer—why you purposely let me believe you wanted to kill me when it wasn’t the case.”

Castiel rubbed his hands over his face. “What do you know of the HoH?”

“Like the legend?”

“If you want to call it that.”

“Not much,” said Dean. “Just that your planet, Astrum, became an unsustainable environment for its inhabitants. There’s a lot of crazy other stuff, but like I said: legends. I don’t even know when that happened. A lot of people seem to be unclear on the timeline.”

“That’s because it was a very long time ago.” He cleared his throat, and after a short hesitation, he said, “A—a long time ago, when the Host—which we also referred to as the Garrison,” and, side note, we have so many stupid names for us, it’s kind of ridiculous, “we were united. Strong. We didn’t always agree on everything, but we got along. We kept to ourselves. But soon, some of us got curious to explore beyond our system. To do more than simply exploring. To participate. Help weaker civilizations. Not everyone agreed and Astrum, a place that was peaceful, grew violent and dark.”

He stepped closer to Dean and reached out for his wrist, gently. And Dean let him.

“I had been to other systems. Visited planets. We always had done this, but we weren’t allowed to interact. We had to keep our distance.”

Which in my opinion was so incredibly stupid.

“I went to Venandi. And though it sometimes reminded me of home, not in the good way, I loved the culture. The belief in helping others. Which was why I strongly sided with those who wished to change our ways. And that made me an easy target.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone approached me. One of my brothers.”

Side note again—when we say brothers and sisters and whatnot, we mean, like, the entire population of Astrum. Technically speaking, we are related and siblings…but it’s complicated.

“I thought—he appeared to be a potentially good ally despite his shyness and reclusive tendencies. I was wrong.”

And he was. But literally nobody in the whole freaking universe and multi-verses could have predicted what that little shit pulled.

No one.

Not even freaking Dad.

But that’s not important right now.

“Metatron, he—I was such an idiot. I let him wheel me into a scheme that I believed would help all of us. Instead, he nearly destroyed us all. Astrum became uninhabitable. We lost our home. So the debate of if we should be allowed to venture, live and participate elsewhere didn’t matter anymore, as we now had no choice. Metatron made that choice for us all. That was not what I wanted. That was not what any of us wanted. And even if he was culprit, he managed to convince everyone I had been the guilty one. And how could he not? I had helped him. Without knowing what I was doing, I foolishly had helped him. And given how vocal I had been about my beliefs, about Venandi, it wasn’t very difficult for Metatron, the innocent recluse, to claim I had been the one to blame.”

“So, wait,” said Dean, lifting one hand. “Am I to understand that you took the fall twice for something you didn’t do?”

“Three times, actually.”

Dean flinched.

“The third time warranted me being put in cryo sleep. Which had nothing to do with HoH or you.”

“What the fuck, Cas. Why? Why do you keep doing this? And none of this actually explains why you didn’t say anything when you got arrested on Venandi.”

“I know. I’m getting there,” he assured him. “Most of the Garrison is gone, now. Because we no longer had our home, we perished with time. And what Metatron had to do in order to ensure his plan…destroyed me. Nearly killed me. He—I’m not going to get into the details about that for now. I’ll just say this is why I am not at full power. Which is really unfortunate, and yet, in a way, it allowed me to stay undetected for the most part. It’s discernable, but you have to know where to look. And while most of the galaxy would never think to search for one of us—as you said yourself, we are supposed to be extinct—my siblings would. And one found me. On Venandi.”

“You mean—what do you mean?”

“It was my fault, Dean. Your attack. It was because of me.” He stepped closer and squeezed his hand. “I stayed away from Venandi for a really long time after Astrum…Everyone knew how I felt about it. Going there wouldn’t have been a good idea. So I travelled. I tried to stay low. And I didn’t stick around in one place for too long either. But after many, many years, when I knew most of the Garrison was gone, I decided that perhaps going to Venandi wouldn’t be a problem anymore. So I went. I was still planning on keeping to myself and not extend my stay for too long. But I met you.”

Dean swallowed.

“I tried to stay clear of you. You were one of the Prime Families, a representative of Venandi. Lined up to have a seat on the council.”

“I don’t want to—that’s not really my thing.”

“Still, the eldest son of a Prime Family of Venandi, that’s a high profile. That attracts a lot of attention. I knew it was a bad idea. But you were kind. And generous.” He took a deep breath. “I was willing to meet you that day. I was looking forward to it. And I suppose I let my guards down and didn’t pay attention to my surroundings as much as I should have.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I recognized your attacker. His name is Ishim. He saw me. Interacting with you. He saw—I’m not sure if he planned to peg it on me all along, but I know he did this to you because of me.” 

“Because of what happened on Astrum? Which you had nothing to do with in the first place?”

Aren’t they a lovable bunch or what?

“Yes. That’s what happened at the club too. The second assassin. That was Bartholomew.”

“Fuck, talk about holding a grudge.”

Yes, my siblings really fucking need to get over shit. Or at least, they should get with the program and admit that Metatron was the fucker of that story.

As you can see, I do not have a problem with Castiel, because I know what happened. Although, many of our remaining siblings are aware of that fact too by now. And they still bitterly hold Castiel accountable.

“So that’s why I had to keep my mouth shut,” said Castiel. “If I said who I was, it would potentially attract more of my angry siblings. Therefore exposing me—and you—once they realized the reasons behind Ishim’s actions… I wanted to explain, but I feared knowing my true identity would simply lead you into too much trouble. And you already knew my name.”

“So, you—you—look I know we…it’s not like—nothing had actually happened between us, but what were you planning on doing? I mean, if Ishim had never showed up.”

Castiel smiled at the corner of his mouth. “I thought I made it clear earlier I was planning on meeting you. Like you had suggested.”

“Yeah, um. I—I got that part, Cas. I meant, later. Like a few weeks after that.”

Castiel swallowed and took a small step back.

Damn it.

“You said you never stayed very long in the same spot,” continued Dean. “And while I sort of get why you kept certain things to yourself, were you ever planning on telling me who you were? Back then? Like, not everything, but…yeah.”

“I wanted to.”

“But that’s not the same thing, is it?”

Castiel look down, and after a short pause, he said, “I don’t know what I would have done, Dean. Like I said, I wanted to. And honestly, I’ve been on my own for a really long time, and I don’t remember ever considering the idea of doing so. Until you. But I cannot say with absolute certainty that I would have, because I cannot know this answer now.”

Dean nodded and looked down.

“But I’m happy you know now. And when I was, um, _escorted _out of Venandi after that whole ordeal—”

“You mean, when they dragged you out like a felon? To be brought to Carcerem? Which you escaped, by the way. How?”

Castiel couldn’t help but grin. I know it’s probably wrong to say this, but I’m a hella proud of him to have pulled that one off. Like, I am actually impressed.

“I think I will keep that one story to myself for now,” said Castiel. Which sucks, because I really would like to know that story myself. “The point was that I didn’t want to leave. I was sad to leave you, and in that fashion. I worried someone would learn why Ishim had done it. But the idea that you thought I—”

“I know now,” said Dean. “I believe you. This whole freaking thing is nuts. But I believe you.”

They stood still awkwardly for a while. Castiel let Dean digest the whole thing. He was just glad Dean hadn’t stormed off.

There have been far too many people who have done that to him already.

“Is the legend you’ve heard about Astrum similar to what I just told you? I’m curious,” said Castiel, amused.

“Sort of. On the very basic plot points, minus the whole family drama. There’s a lot of embellishment, I suppose. But there are a lot of different stories.”

“That’s because only we know what happened. And we didn’t make a point of spreading it.”

“Yeah, that and because it happened like…like a freaking long time ago. Like…how long ago was that exactly?”

Castiel let out a short laugh. “Are you asking me how old I am, Dean?”

“Well, no. Maybe. You—you don’t look old.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling. “In comparison to my siblings, I am actually quite young.”

“And in comparison to me?”

“I believe the word ‘ancient’ comes to mind.”

“Right.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No. I—why would it bother me?” he genuinely asked.

Castiel shrugged. “Just asking.”

And then they stared at each other for a moment, yet again. What else is new. 

“Um, Cas? I—”

And because these two beans have, like, the worst luck ever, Dean was interrupted by someone from the temple.

“Mr. Winchester? Mr.…Novak? I apologize, but something just occurred and you need to come with me immediately.”

Dean frowned. “Where’s Missouri? I need to speak to her.”

“She’s inside. I am to bring you to her. Urgently.”

They awkwardly let go of each other’s hands and followed her.

Missouri was standing by a doorway, observing a small group, who were seated comfortably on cushions, holding each other’s hands as they hummed.

“Missouri?” whispered Dean.

She turned, smiling at them, and nudged them to walk beside her down the hall.

“I am sorry for the interruption. I can see your conversation helped. I would have liked to give you more time, but I can’t anymore.”

“Why? What happened?” asked Castiel.

“We’re not exactly sure. Apparently, there’s been an argument between the BMoL and Venandi.”

Shocker. Am I right?

“And it didn’t help the matter when Henriksen and his men showed up into the mix.”

“Awesome,” sighed Dean.

“It seems everyone is dead set on finding you both, and whoever gets to you first, looks like they get to keep you. Which is why,” she said, adopting a very serious tone, “I would suggest for you, Dean, to head straight home for your safety, but—”

“No.”

“—I know you won’t do that.”

“Dean, you should,” pleaded Castiel. “Missouri is right. They might not be able to do much about Amara, but if you’re on Venandi, Henriksen, Crowley, the BMoL—they cannot get to you there.”

“And what about you? I’ll do everything I can, but we both know if you show up there, it won’t—I won’t be in a position to help you.”

“I know. Which is why I shouldn’t go with—”

“Then no,” said Dean firmly.

Castiel frowned. “Dean. You have to—”

“No. I don’t. And, um, besides. Going back there won’t help me either that much. In a way, it will only condemn me. I won’t be able to do anything there. Which reminds me, Missouri, I had a question,” he said, absolutely done with the idea of being separated from Castiel.

Awww.

“I was wondering if you knew anything about—”

“About Sam, yes,” she said, super-matter-of-factly.

“Do—do you know anything?”

“Honey, I’m sorry. The only reason why I haven’t said anything is because I don’t know where he is.”

Dean swallowed hard. “But you—earlier, you said that—”

“That he’s still out there. Fighting. But I don’t know where. I don’t know what happened to him. But—” and she stopped abruptly, pursing her lips.

Mrs. Moseley might not have known where Sam was, but she definitely knew things.

And now she was struggling with the awesome dilemma of sharing said information, while knowing full well that Dean would most likely do something stupid after hearing it.

But then, she took Castiel into consideration.

“But what?” said Dean, trying to not freak out.

“I don’t know where he is,” she repeated, “or what’s happening to him. It’s odd. I—every time I try to focus my mind on him, hoping to get a hint of where this boy’s at, I can never reach him. I get glimpses,” she paused, letting out a sigh, “but it’s very hazy.”

Dean was disappointed with her answer. And after taking another look at Castiel, Missouri added, “And I think I know why that is. Something—someone is hiding him. And keeping him for themselves.”

“But—it would have to be someone incredibly powerful in order to shield him from you,” said Castiel.

“Yes. They would have to be.”

And Castiel pretty much figured what Missouri was getting at and it was his turn to be disappointed with her answer.

Dean was a little lost, however.

“What? You don’t mean Amara, do you?”

“No. Although she would definitely have the strength to do this. But she is not the one doing this.”

“Then who? Missouri, who’s got my brother?”

“Do you know who I am referring to?” she asked Castiel. Which only added to Dean’s confusion.

“I have a few guesses, but one in particular comes to mind.”

Dean’s heartbeat intensified, as his eyes bounced between Missouri and Castiel for a long, agonizing minute. “Um, okay, seriously, the suspense is killing me. What do you know? Why aren’t you guys saying anything?”

“Someone from the Garrison has Sam,” said Missouri slowly.

Dean immediately turned his eyes to Castiel with extreme worry. And then said, “Okay, are you guys, like, everywhere?”

“What do you mean?”

“For people who are supposed to be extinct, I feel like you’re literally everywhere. Turbulentus, Venandi—twice—and now one has Sam?”

“We’ve always been everywhere, Dean. We just kept our identity to ourselves.”

Dean took a deep breath and said, “Who’s the one who has Sam?”

“His name is Lucifer,” said Missouri.

“Okay,” said Dean, having no idea what to do with this information.

“Castiel,” said Missouri, keeping her eyes on Dean, “would it be advised to take up a fight with Lucifer?”

“It would be a very ill-advised thing to do. Reckless.”

Dean clenched his jaw.

“And are you going to make Dean wait until he has the proper support before aiding him on this matter?”

Castiel opened his mouth, but shut it a moment later. He fidgeted on his feet. “I will do everything in my power to make sure Dean has the necessary resources before he runs after Lucifer. But I will not delay him indefinitely, nor will I dissuade him from it.”

Dean, shocked, turned his head to him.

“I was afraid of that,” sighed Missouri. “You boys are going to be the death of me.”

Castiel took a step closer. “If Lucifer indeed has Sam, and had him in his grasp since he disappeared, then I don’t like what that means for Sam.” Fucking preaching to the choir. “The longer we wait, the worse it will get for him.”

“Missouri, do you know anything else? Please. I—you really don’t know where he is?”

“I’m sorry, honey. I don’t. I can’t help you with that.” And just as Dean was about to be done with everything, she added, “But I might know someone who could know.”

And not that I would ever dare offend Mrs. Moseley, because that lady is amazing and kind of terrifying, but I need to severely hurry ass with this story so we are going to skip forward a little.

That way we will be able to get to the really good part of the story.

You know. The one where I show up.


	8. We'll Take That One to Go

Okay, so Missouri knew some good souls on Orationis who agreed to aid Dean and Castiel. Because of the _drama _surrounding them, which kept increasing every moment, they knew it would be highly recommended to not overstay their welcome. The last thing they wanted was to bring their problems to a temple.

Missouri promised Dean that she would get in contact with his friends, and some of the council members of Venandi, in order to report Dean’s version of the whole Purgatory mess, if in return he promised to send out a help signal to Orationis _and _Venandi the moment he learned of Sam’s location.

“Not to stop you, but to come and help you. You hear me?” she said to him with attitude.

“Yes mam. I promise.”

She turned to Castiel and said, “Keep your eyes on that fool. He might stand a chance that way.”

“I wouldn’t dare to disappoint you,” he said, smiling.

They exchanged their teleporters for another ship, which wasn’t top notch, but they couldn’t afford to be super capricious.

While teleportation wouldn’t have been a problem to reach their new destination, the same might not be the case with other destinations down the line. Also, if by some miracle they managed to find Sam, two teleporters wouldn’t be a great help then.

Yes, two. They had only two of the three bracelets Crowley had given them.

When they had retrieved their clothes and personal items aboard the BMoL ship, only two bracelets had been accounted for. And the key card Kip had given them was also missing from their personal items.

So they either had lost them within the mayhem on Turbulentus.

Or someone from the BMoL had sticky fingers.

Either way, they were short one teleporter. The acquisition of a ship fixed that problem.

So, they grabbed some snacks for the road and they were ready to hurry to their new destination: Desiderium. Missouri had known of a very powerful healer, named Sister Jo, who could be of very good assistance to them.

Dean and Castiel were slightly confused as to why a healer, however skilled they were, could know the location of Sam (and Lucifer).

Missouri had chosen to not give any additional information on the matter and told them to simply take her tip or not.

Which is rather sly of her, and I like it.

It turned out that Missouri’s tip was a good lead, but with its own set of problems.

As always.

They found Sister Jo on Desiderium in a modest home. Quiet life. With a fair number of followers. But still low-key.

They knocked on her door, rather late at night, trying desperately to not attract unnecessary attention.

She froze when she opened her door.

Dean, smiled awkwardly and was surprised to see a very beautiful red head in front of them. Not at all what he had pictured.

Castiel, however, had a different reaction.

“Oh.”

Dean glanced at him.

“Castiel. What are you doing here?”

“I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you.”

They stared at each other.

“Um, can we come in a moment?”

She hesitated a moment, but nodded and let them in.

And shut the door, peeking nervously out the window to see if anyone else was lurking around.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” said Castiel, “but we need your help. Although, I’m not sure if I would have come here knowing it was you.”

“You’re judging me?”

“No. I just thought you would.”

And that’s when Dean had to cut in. “Hold on, you know Sister Jo? You two know each other?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she said. “I don’t care about what you did or didn’t do Castiel. I treat everyone the same. If you came here for help that I can procure, I will give it to you—”

“Thank you.”

“—for a price.”

Dean was looking at the ceiling, ready to burst, while Castiel was trying to not look confused or offended. “What?”

“This is how I do business.”

“We don’t have any money, Anael.”

“Anael?” whispered Dean. And then his jaw dropped. “Wait, are you—is she another one? From the Host or whatever?”

Anael turned to him quickly and said, “Yes. A fact I would rather not advertise. So keep it down.”

Dean glanced around the house. “There’s, like, nobody around.”

She squinted at him.

“Anael, we don’t have any money,” repeated Castiel, wanting to return to the conversation.

“And I repeat: this is how I do business,” she said. “I don’t even know if I can help you. So before we start discussing payment, how about we start with why you’re here.”

Castiel bit his bottom lip. Hesitating. For obvious reasons.

To him, anyway.

Which was why Dean jumped in.

“Lucifer. Do you know where he is?”

She flinched. “You want to find Lucifer?” She let out a small nervous laugh. “Castiel, I thought—you always maintained that what happened wasn’t your fault and—”

“This isn’t about me. It’s—”

“He has my brother,” said Dean. “I want to get him back. Can you help us or not?”

Anael weighed the possibility. Now, she might be an adorable bean, which she is, but she’s also one of those who you can never fully trust either. She’s not evil. Far from it. But if someone always ‘helps’ you out for a price, it usually means that they’re willing to do the exact same thing for other people. For a better price. And for your opponents. Which is cause for concern.

“I might know something,” she said.

They both stared at her.

“And? Where is he?”

“That’s the part where we discuss payment.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Anael, please.”

“This is information. Which is what you wanted. I’m not unreasonable, I won’t ask for much. But I’m sure as hell not giving this for free, either. Especially considering what you’re asking of me.”

Castiel let out a deep sigh, and after a pleading look to Anael, who held her ground, he caved in. “What can we do for you?”

Dean turned around and pouted with his arms crossed over his chest.

She pondered her options briefly, and said, “In less than five hours from now, there’s going to be a very dashing evening on the Inflatus Station. A charitable gala. Where you can go and admire ancient treasures collected from every corner of the galaxy.” She grabbed a device on a buffet next to them. “There is one item that I would like very much. A necklace.”

“Jewelry?”

“Yes,” she pressed on her device and projected a hologram of a necklace with a bright yellow stone. “It’s called the Heaven’s Last Star. You understand why I would like it. Bring it back to me and I’ll tell you what you want.”

Yeah, so not at all what they had expected. In fact, _Sister Jo _and everything about her was about the complete opposite of what they had expected to deal with on their way to Desiderium.

“You want us to do a heist?” said Dean in disbelief.

“For jewelry?”

“It’s very nice jewelry,” she argued, smirking. “I seriously considered doing it myself, but changed my mind.”

“Oh really?” said Dean sarcastically. “Why the change of heart?”

“I realized the host and prime donor of the evening is Mr. Roman.”

“Perfect,” said Castiel, lifting his arms in the air, exasperated. Because this was getting better and better.

“So you understand why I don’t really want to be there in person,” she said.

“Anael, I thought you said you wouldn’t be unreasonable. We—this is a lot to ask of two people who are under watch right now,” pointed out Castiel.

“In that case,” she said, smiling, “the door’s behind you.”

Dean and Castiel held an entire silent conversation via angry looks, until Dean sighed and said, “Any other jewelry you’d like instead of this one?”

“I’m always up for nice things. But this is the one I desire the most at the moment.”

“Any other way we could acquire it?”

“Nope,” said Anael, still smiling.

“Jefferson Starships,” swore Dean.

Thus, upon Anael’s directive, they bitterly set off to the Inflatus Station.

In contrast to the other hellhole Crowley had sent them to, this location was rich, elegant and dignified. Majestic. With sparkles and chandeliers and bubbly.

Therefore, the crowd consisted mainly of ass-hats. Correction, _rich _ass-hats.

Yes, there is a distinction. And I’m not discriminatory. I would never imply that only rich people are ass-hats. That in itself is ridiculous. Ass-hats are everywhere.

But in this particular case, every guest in the room was both rich and an ass-hat.

And as Anael had stated, this was a gala where certain ancient artifacts were exposed for entertainment purposes. What she hadn’t mentioned, mainly because she hadn’t paid particular attention to that detail, was that this event was ironically a fundraiser for science.

I don’t want to sound political, I love science, but _typical_.

Anyway, it was the type of evening that you would perhaps find interesting, but you’d also want to bash your brains out due to the horrendous people surrounding you.

Which meant, tight security and uptight people, with maximum risk and maximum boredom.

To this day, Castiel and Dean remain positively quiet as to how they managed to sneak into that soirée.

It doesn’t matter the amount of bribery you give them.

No matter how crafty and on point your questions can be.

How much alcohol or blackmail you throw at them.

Nada.

They never gave me one thing to go with this. It literally makes me scream and want to eat something healthy.

And as frustrating as it is, I also find this incredibly fascinating.

See, if they had been fretfully dismissive or awkward, let slip a few things here and there—no matter what it would have been—I wouldn’t have thought I would have to overthink the whole thing. I would have gone with a few classics.

How about they stole some guys’ credentials?

Or knew someone on the inside?

Or just raided the place like maniacs?

But then I ask myself, what’s with the out-of-this world secret, then?

The fact that this—the detail of how they managed to get into that pompous evening—above everything else that they had to do, is the part where they were all, “Nope, not saying,” tells me that this must have been the most fucking embarrassing story ever.

I mean, don’t they know anything? If they didn’t want me to overthink it, then they should have just invented something random but plausible enough, and that would have been that.

But to tell me, “No comment”…Might as well tell me they burst through a cake, butt-naked, and posed as the private and erotic entertainment that event most certainly and unofficially had.

For starters.

And even though it’s probably not what happened, that is what I’m going with. As far as I’m concerned, by not telling me, it’s like they were practically begging me to say it like that.

_Therefore_, Castiel and Dean navigated the crowd naked, carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres and bubbly as casually as they could. Not looking inconspicuous for one second. As they weren’t they only ones.

It was quite brilliant _of them _to have taken that strategy, I find. Everyone was busy looking at everything else but their faces.

Other than his fabulous and muscular physique, which was quite something, Castiel’s tattoos inspired a lot of intrigued looks across the room. Surprisingly, the good kind.

A lot of heads turned.

Not that he cared.

The same could be said of Dean, too. He is, after all, a very attractive bean. But people were mostly curious about his odd handprint on his shoulder.

You’d think all this would have been sufficient enough for people to actually notice who was standing in front of them, but no. You’re giving these people far too much credit. And the few who had noticed—yes, some had—didn’t care in the least, as I know for a fact that every, um, _waiter _attending these events are usually used for one purpose only.

And it isn’t to circulate drinks on the floor. That’s just a bonus.

As long as they carried on with their original purpose, that _charming altruistic bunch _didn’t care.

Which was the point here.

Flowing through the crowd, it didn’t take them very long to spot the necklace. The good news, they thought, was that the Heaven’s Last Star (and good grief, who names those things?) wasn’t the most guarded artifact. The bad news was, well, everything else.

But still, they tried to remain positive.

“We do like we planned,” whispered Dean.

“Diversion. Grab. And run,” sighed Castiel. “Do you really think they will fall for that one?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No. But they will expect it.”

“We are so fucked.”

“I know.”

Both convinced, for extremely good reasons, that this was a very bad idea, they continued on strolling along the edge of the room, while trying their best to not get too self-conscious about their situation.

Well, Dean was. Castiel didn’t give a flying fuck. In fact, given his last decade and his mellow attire these days, which honestly, I’m very proud of, if it was up to him, I’m positive he’d just walk around naked all the time.

Dean-o was a different story. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of.

As I’m saying this, I’m aware it might seem a bit weird, considering…you know. Which is why I’ll stop there for now and I’ll reserve this for the upcoming good part. I’m already gonna cross the line, assuming I haven’t already, soooo, moving on.

That being said, I think it is my absolute duty to mention that they were totally checking each other out.

Like, in case that wasn’t clear.

Dean claimed his eyes had only ventured on Castiel’s rock hard abs because he was curious about his bruises. Which, fair enough, was a good point, as they had nearly all disappeared. Castiel wasn’t in top shape, but he evidently still had some sparks left in him to help him with the rapid healing process.

“How?” murmured Dean.

“I’m not human, remember? I told you. Those were nothing.” Castiel’s eyes then fell on Dean’s shoulder.

“What about you? Does it hurt?”

Dean, staring at him, shook his head slowly. “Only when it happened.” And then something occurred to him. “Did you—after the branding, did you help me? Like you had done when I was attacked?”

“I tried. But I was already recovering from cryo. Not to mention that the actual action of branding you took its toll on me too.”

“But it worked. I—I hadn’t realized that’s what you were doing, but the pain stopped the moment you—it worked.”

Castiel swallowed. “I’m glad to know this.”

They stared at each other some more, because that’s what they always do, and after a little while, once they remembered where they were and what they were up to, they snapped out of it and were ready to set their plan in motion.

And then, because that’s how life is sometimes, someone in the middle of the crowd shouted for an announcement.

“Good evening, honored guests! Welcome to the 283rd Gala of Ancient Societies. Please welcome with warm applause, the very humble Prime Leader of the Levis Clan, Owner of Turbulentus Station, Dick Roman.”

Everyone applauded and cheered the man walked on stage. He was wearing a bright blue suit and an arrogant-as-fuck smile.

Dean swore as they anxiously glanced around them for any potential threat. They reluctantly joined the applauding crowd and listened to that asshole’s speech.

“Astounding! Welcome. Welcome, everyone.” He fixed his not crooked tie as he waited for the crowd to settle down. “It is my greatest honor to welcome you here tonight on this special occasion. Preserving history and ancient civilizations has always been a fundamental practice for my nation. We crave it, really. As every bit of information is crucial.”

Knowing the Levis, can I just say: yikes.

“But I must admit,” he said, with the biggest condescending fucking smirk, “that tonight, it is even doubly my honor to curate this event. It is. It really is, because not only we are helping to promote overlooked cultural treasures and, therefore, gives us the opportunity to cherish them amongst ourselves. But there is also the fascinating element of what this fundraiser will serve to support. Every year, we change it for a new cause. It typically involves research in discovering other galaxies. This year, however, we went a little differently. This year, the theme of the event is cryo sleep.”

Nearly everyone in the room went “Ooooooh!”

Except Castiel and Dean, of course.

That was the moment where they firmly believed the end was coming for them.

It didn’t.

But after what followed, it partially will feel like it did.

I know the saying is “Honesty is always the best policy,” and on many accounts, I agree.

“Ignorance is bliss,” however, is also something worth mentioning.

And in that moment, if Castiel and Dean thought that subject would make it awkward for them, they didn’t know what was about to fucking hit them.

Internally screaming and sweating buckets, with their hearts about to jump out of their chests, they were certain that Dick fucking Roman was about to address in length the break out of Purgatory7172.

That he was about to out them. And show their mug shots and Henriksen’s picture.

But Dick Roman did none of that.

“In light of recent events,” he said, “the Levis Clan is now confident enough to share results that we have discovered about cryo sleep. And it is revolutionary.”

The lights dimmed around them and footage appeared on every wall of the room. Footage of people being led to cryo pods. Some people were gently guided. Some patients resisted. Some were downright forced into it while unconscious.

It didn’t matter the age, gender or even species. It depicted countless numbers of people getting into those pods, and then with one push of a button, becoming frozen and still.

Dean couldn’t help but glance at Castiel, who had his eyes glued on the disturbing images, assessing how so many souls had been thrown into those cryo bins.

Knowing so few would come out of it. Unharmed.

“As we all know,” continued the ass-hat, “cryo sleep is an old practice. And a questionable one too. But it is working. And it has been working for decades. We simply need to perfect it a little bit to raise the success rate.”

People actually fucking applauded.

“I know some would call it dangerous. Some would even say it should be illegal.” He made a dramatic pause. “But for those who believe this, they simply haven’t realized the true potential of this practice. And today I am here to tell you that what we refer as cryo sleep has surpassed its original function.”

There were exciting murmurs within the crowd. And Dean felt Castiel fidget on his feet next to him.

“We don’t know much, because the subjects are very limited,” continued Roman. “But based on our research and that of other Federations who were kind enough to share their data with us on this particular breakthrough,” at which Dean snorted, “we discovered fascinating side effects of cryo sleep that can occur in certain subjects. Allow me to demonstrate.”

The crowd around them continued whispering among themselves, as they observed with attention the footage of people waking up from cryo sleep that was projected on the walls.

Dean turned to Castiel again. “What does he mean?” he asked in a low voice.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Castiel, confused. “The only side effects from being under cryo sleep I’ve heard of are brain damage and death. Anything else beyond that is temporary.”

“Temporary?”

“Yes. The loss of muscle function, for example.”

“That’s what you had.”

“Yes. Walking was difficult. Moving was. It was like I knew I was awake, I could speak and think, but my body was delayed and uncooperative. But it didn’t last very long.”

The clips consisted of people dealing with the immediate aftermath of waking up from cryo. A young boy was slowly grabbing a spoon to eat a bowl of soup in front of him.

“While some recuperate rather fast,” said Roman, “some didn’t at all.”

And the clip changed, showing a young girl simply sitting at the table. Not even looking at the bowl of soup in front of her.

“We always believed those were the two outcomes. But we discovered that a gray area existed between the two.”

The clip changed once more to another boy who was sitting at a table, eyeing his bowl of soup and his spoon. His eyes turned, as if he was looking at someone off screen, and then he refocused his gaze on his bowl. He tapped his fingers right next to the spoon, but didn’t touch it. He clearly could move, but he was still not grabbing that spoon. Even though it was clear in his eyes, which kept glancing off screen every ten seconds out of frustration, that this was precisely what he wanted to do. He lifted his hand, and just as he was about to grab the spoon, he froze, and let his hand drop right next to the spoon.

“Um, are—are they—what? Are they implying what I think they are?” hissed Dean.

“It seems so.”

“Cryo sleep can’t turn people into fucking slaves.”

“No, it cannot. They’d have to do much more than just put them through cryo. And even then, I still can’t see how.”

“All this footage was taken over a decade ago,” announced Roman. Enthusiasm filled the room. “And that was simply a child fighting for a bowl of soup. We eventually figured out one correlation. Trauma. If someone endured trauma, the bigger it is the better, they can become susceptible. It is not true of all trauma victims. But everyone who is susceptible to those side effects is a trauma victim. Most of them are practical, but tame.” Clips of people, carrying trays and moping the floor, appeared.

“But some were found to possess astounding skills. Potential for personal aid. Sure. Something everyone needs.” Nods were avidly given in the audience. “But what about security? An army?” The crowd gasped in unison.

“And then,” continued Roman, with a big smile, “a fellow investor, who would prefer to remain anonymous, shared this clip with us. Meet his favourite subject, 423.”

A tall young man stood up from his pod and stayed still, awaiting orders. He then nodded, directed himself to a table, where he picked up a sword and let his left hand run all along the sharp edge of the sword. His hand was bleeding, and yet the young man simply stood still, letting the blood drip onto the floor.

He nodded again and walked to the left to another pod. He opened it, and before the other cryo patient could wake up, he slit his throat. As the patient was bleeding out, lights on monitors were flashing, and attendants rushed in to help him out. And the young man stayed on his spot, unfazed. There had been absolutely zero hesitation in his actions.

More clips of subject 423 followed, displaying him executing more elaborate acts. Capturing people. The torturing people. And he remained, throughout it all, an absolute shell. Empty.

“What the fuck,” breathed Dean in horror.

“Dean, please tell me that’s not—”

“Yes. That’s fucking Sam. 423 is Sam.”

In retrospect, it was probably a good thing that Dean was, for heartbreaking reasons, in a complete state of shock. Otherwise he would have done what he always did, namely, freak the fuck out. And while this would have totally been called for, they couldn’t afford to do so in that moment.

Feeling numb and not breathing, he was in disbelief at the scenes unfolding before him.

Subtly examining the crowd, Castiel and Dean weren’t sure what was more terrifying. The truth about cryo sleep, or the fact that, while this was gut wrenching news to the both of them, the footage presented didn’t seem to be upsetting anyone else in the room.

“They don’t even care. They—I swear I’m going to rip out the lungs of everyone who had anything to do with this,” said Dean, his voice wavering.

“Dean?” asked Castiel in a gentle voice. “We just need to get the necklace and then we can help Sam. Okay?”

Dean nodded. But he remained on his spot, unable to move or do anything else but stare at the images.

Castiel stepped closer to him, letting their bare shoulders touch. He whispered in his ear. “He’s alive. He’s not dead. All we need to do is get what we came here for and then we continue with every single step we need to get to Sam.”

Dean swallowed.

“He’s alive, Dean. Keep repeating that to yourself.”

“Is he, though?”

Castiel frowned.

“I mean, how—how can we be sure it’s still really him? He doesn’t look like him. It’s like he’s gone.”

Castiel shut his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “You don’t know that. Missouri said—maybe he’s faking. Maybe it’s reversible. Maybe it’s not just caused by cryo sleep, but something else entirely. The one thing we know is that Sam is alive and we have a way to reach him. Focus on that Dean.”

Dean nodded. But he couldn’t stop watching. And the footage was becoming more disturbing by the minute.

“Dean, stop looking.” Castiel smoothly pulled on his arm so Dean would face him, hoping it would therefore divert his attention. As discreetly as possible, Castiel rested one hand on his chest. The moment Dean started to turn his eyes towards the images again, Castiel gently stopped him by holding his chin. “Just look at me, forget everything else.” The crowd gasped. Some people cheered. And Dean resisted Castiel’s hold. He slightly turned his head, but Castiel kept him still. “Not yet,” he said. He stepped closer, and moved his hand from his chin to his cheek. “Look at me, Dean.”

Dean stopped resisting and did as Castiel told him. He did nothing else, but focus on the blue of his eyes.

And eventually, that forsaken, atrocious fucking footage ended.

“Give it up for 423!” yelled Roman cheerfully.

Loud, enthusiastic applause followed, and Castiel and Dean remained perfectly still focused on one another. Roman continued with a bit of boring speech, thanking people and such, and then left the stage, leaving the crowd to continue exchanging polite, yet vicious, digs at one another.

And yes, Castiel and Dean were still looking at each other. The lights were back on. The clips were gone. No more awful footage of Sam. No more Dick Roman. And people were about to notice the naked waiters having a semi-tender moment in the left corner of the room if they didn’t start moving around.

But they didn’t really care in that moment and that was perfectly fine too.

And Dean felt the sudden urge to lean in towards Castiel. Feeling his breath against his lips.

Just as he was about to get to it, they were suddenly interrupted.

Yet again.

People just don’t have any sense of propriety in this century. I swear.

“Dean, honey,” said a voice behind Dean. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Dean turned around abruptly to see who had recognized him.

A tall man, with very short hair and dressed in an elegant suit, was before them, looking smug. He was accompanied by a friend.

“Fuck,” said Dean under his breath. Castiel frowned at him. Dean hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his options, and then said, “I’m sorry, sir. Um, Lord. Do I know you?”

“Cute. Denial was always your thing.”

“You must be thinking of someone else,” said Dean urgently.

“I doubt that. I’d recognize that ass anywhere,” the man said, winking at him.

Both Dean and Castiel clenched their jaws.

“I’m sure you’re greatly mistaken,” Dean said, trying to keep his temper in check.

The man was scanning Dean from top to bottom with such arrogance and desire, that if it hadn’t been for the fact that Dean was clearly annoyed by this person, Castiel might have felt a tiny hint of envy in his chest.

“My Lord, you know this…man?” said the man’s companion.

“A lot of knowing went on, yes.”

“Not that much,” said Dean immediately. “And it was certainly not—I—” Dean cleared his throat, feeling even more exposed than he had been the moment he stepped into that station.

“Not what?”

And the problem here with this question was that it hadn’t been Dean’s mysterious man who had asked it.

It had been Castiel.

Dean swallowed. “Not what I wanted,” he breathed. And even though it had been the truth, he also knew that stating this fact was only making things even more complicated.

And that it would also piss off that smug asshole.

The man smirked, took a sip of champagne, signaled for his companion to leave them a moment and stepped forward.

“Don’t be like that, Dean. You forget that I am uniquely qualified to know what you want, and that,” he said as his eyes fell on Castiel, “ain’t it.”

And that was when Dean was just about fucking done.

“Munroe—or whatever the hell your name is— you don’t know anything and it wasn’t like that.” And forgetting himself for a moment, he took a step forward. “And you fucking know it.”

“Nick, Dean. The name’s Nick. It will always be that for you. And is that really what you think?” he asked, amused.

“It’s what I know. You wheeled me into—you know it, Munroe. It wasn’t real.”

Staring at him, his fingers were brushing Dean’s wrists.

“I told you. It’s Nick,” he said gently.

Oh, yeah. I should probably say it at this point. So, this guy?

Yeah, he’s Dean’s husband.

Sort of.

Not really.

It’s complicated.

I forgot to mention it when Henriksen made that dig at Dean at the very beginning.

Oh, well, now you know.

Moving on.

Dean was evidently freaking out. Not only because _Nick _was among the long list of people who Dean just about wished he would never have the displeasure to fucking set his eyes on again, but also because these insinuations were coming out the wrong way.

In front of Castiel.

And now Dean had a lot of shit to explain. Or I should say, he _felt _he had a lot of shit to explain.

And while he wasn’t doing anything major, Nick was still being a little too physical for Dean’s taste.

And he knew that proximity was always a dangerous thing with Nick. He took a step back, distancing himself from him, but Nick firmly grabbed his wrist this time, and pulled him closer to him.

The moment it happened, Dean felt Castiel stir next to them. As he was about to slide in between them, Dean urgently lifted his other hand to stop him. With a pleading look, Dean shook his head, signaling him to not get involved.

“He’s a Sirena,” he explained. Castiel blinked at this revelation and remained on his spot, now understanding the situation.

Just to get you up to speed, stay clear of Sirenas to avoid exchange of saliva. They are really crafty about it and if it happens, well, you’re pretty much their bitch.

“Are we going to have a problem, Dean?” said Nick. “Because I don’t think you’re in a position to cause any issues. Especially considering who’s roaming around in this room.

“_Nick_. Don’t.”

“You’re the one who should—” and he stopped in the middle of whatever threats he was about to go on about when his eyes fell on Dean’s shoulder. His left shoulder.

It seems rather odd that Nick hadn’t noticed it until then, considering it was not like Dean had been in a position where he could have hidden it.

I mentioned earlier how much the crowd had made a big deal about it. I suppose it was because Nick had focused his attention elsewhere.

That must have been some focus to have missed that one.

Nick’s moment of confusion gave Dean the opportunity to free himself from his hold. And thankfully, even after Dean had taken a step back, Nick had remained on his spot, staring at him.

Much to Castiel’s relief.

“What is that?”

“A branding.”

“Yes, I get that. But what kind of branding?”

Dean frowned at him. Nick was upset. Worried, even.

“Why?” asked Dean.

“Just—answer the question.”

Silence.

“What kind of branding, Dean?”

Well, Dean couldn’t really answer the question because he didn’t actually know the answer. He subtly turned his eyes to Castiel to see if he thought giving Nick an explanation would help the situation.

And that’s when he realized that Castiel wasn’t standing next to him anymore.

“Dean? What type of branding?” Nick repeated. And he wasn’t kidding around. Like, he wasn’t yelling yet, but he wasn’t adopting his usual slick tone either. Like the guy was perturbed.

And some people near them had taken notice.

Trying not to lose his cool and wondering where Castiel had gone, Dean said calmly, “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”

That was not the right answer.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Okay, now people were definitely paying attention.

“I’m—I’m not. I don’t know.”

“Who did this? When?”

“Why?”

“Tell me.”

“I—Nick, why does it matter?”

“I need to know. Why you—what type is it?”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

“So you let someone brand you like—and you didn’t even ask what it was for?” he shouted in disbelief. Which is really rich coming from him. “Tell me! Tell me who!”

And that’s when Dean spotted Castiel lurking around the necklace. While nearly every pair of eyes in the room seemed to be on him and Nick.

And Dean thought, “All right. Let’s make a fucking scene, then.”

His anxious face disappeared, and a cocky smile grew on his lips.

“You wanna know? You wanna know who did this to me?” he said, presenting his shoulder and focusing his eyes on Nick.

“Yes.”

“It’s a good story. I like it. It was quite something. Intimate even.” He paused dramatically, assessing Nick’s anguish as he impatiently awaited his answer. “Which is why I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Dean, I’m fucking warning you.”

“Or what? What are you gonna do? You had maybe one good thing going for you and that was your element of surprise. Which you can’t use on me anymore.”

Nick threw his glass at him. Dean dodged it. People gasped.

“Who the fuck did this?” he launched himself at him, but Dean pushed him back on his chest, causing Nick to take a few steps back.

More gasps were heard, and even though he kept his eyes on Nick, Dean noticed at the corner of his eye that people were slowly advancing through the crowd. And they weren’t wearing tuxedos.

“I can’t believe you fucking did this. How could you?”

“_How could I_?”

A security guard, who appeared to be three times the size of both Nick and Dean combined, stepped forward and said, “Is there a problem here?”

And before Nick could say anything, Dean blurted out, “Yes, I’d like this guest removed for my safety.”

More gasps.

“Excuse me?” said the guard. “You shoved him.”

“It was self-defense!”

The guard took hold of his baton. “You will need to step aside now and follow me. Quietly.”

“I—”

And that’s when a bunch of alarms went off. The crowd let out loud complaints over the noise and people became really agitated. Dean glanced quickly where he had last seen Castiel. He was nowhere to be seen and neither was the necklace.

The guard had evidently a lot more than Dean to deal with, but he unfortunately remained on his spot, his eyes on Dean.

He lifted his arm and just as he was about to strike his blow, Castiel appeared out of nowhere, seized his arm and snapped it.

The security agent yelled out in pain, falling to his knees. Castiel immediately snatched his baton and pointed it at Nick, who had sneakily slid himself towards Dean.

He froze on the spot. For about three seconds. But before Castiel had time to retaliate, Dean’s fist met Nick’s face and they both watched him drop to the floor.

Stunned, Castiel turned to Dean, who yelled a loud “HA!” at the unconscious Nick.

And then the alarms grew louder, people screamed and additional security swarmed in.

Castiel, with one hand wrapped tightly on the necklace, handed Dean the baton and grabbed his other hand, tugging him towards an exit.

Not far behind them, a woman was apprehended by two security guards.

Right before they reached the door leading to the stairs, one man was also fighting off guards. And a couple was vividly arguing against the three guards surrounding them too.

One guard had remained by the door but he was kissing the floor pretty fast the moment Castiel and Dean reached him. They shut the door behind them and Dean hit the control panel with the baton.

When sparks and faint smoke came out, he judged he had done enough damage and they hurried down the stairs.

“What do you think that was about?” yelled Dean over the alarm.

“Thefts. Multiple ones.”

Dean almost slowed down for a second. “What?”

Castiel’s only reply was a mischievous smile. “I improvised.”

Now that they could add robbery to their already long list of crimes, fictitious ones or not, they managed to escape this pretentious cluster and hastily hurried back to Deisderium.

I’m not exactly sure how they succeeded in their escape, but I’m going to be super nice and say they executed that exploit with grace and poise.

Unlike literally everything else they had to suffer through thus far.

And so, for the second time in less than ten hours, they knocked on Anael’s door. This time she didn’t make them linger at her door, and immediately let them in.

“Here you go. One dumbass necklace. No refunds,” Dean said as he handed it to her. She observed it with fascination for a long time. In silence.

Dean cleared his throat. “We’ll give you your privacy. You just need to give us what we need.”

“I don’t know where Lucifer is,” she said quickly, without diverting her eyes away from the necklace.

Dean stopped breathing and Castiel’s gaped at her.

“What?”

“I don’t know where Lucifer is,” she repeated.

They continued staring at her blankly.

“Are you fucking kidding us?”

“That was the point of us getting that ugly ass thing,” yelled Dean.

Anael made a face. “Ugly?”

“This was the agreement, Anael.”

“I said I _might _know something.”

They both stared at her, furious at her deceit and even more furious at themselves for having missed that little detail.

“But you had implied it. We made it clear what we wanted,” said Castiel.

“Which is Lucifer’s whereabouts,” added Dean.

“I understand,” began Anael, “but the fact remains that I don’t know whe—”

“I swear I’m going to scream,” said Dean.

“I don’t know where he is,” repeated Anael, after Dean interrupted her, “_but _I know where you could find out.”

“Are you serious?”

“Have you gotten a better clue so far?” she asked.

“That’s what we were told about you! Look what happened!” barked Dean.

“And I repeat, have you gotten a better clue so far? If you don’t want to know, the door is behind you still.”

As cruel as this was, she kinda had a point there. But Dean was pissed, which prompted him to say, “Great. We’ll do that and we will take that thing back with us,” and he nodded at the necklace.

Anael smirked. “This? When you just told me no refunds? This stolen item? Aren’t you guys in enough trouble already without being found with this?”

Dean was ready to explode and Castiel was slowly losing faith in their mission.

“What do you know?” he said.

“I’ve heard rumors,” answered Anael. “The kind that someone is purposely trying to keep hush-hush. The kind that I, personally, make a point of forgetting the moment I hear it.”

“What is it?”

“There’s this _Lord_. He doesn’t have a name and he likes to move around. I hear he’s extravagant but not…you know, living big is boring for him.”

Castiel squinted at her. “I see. And what doesn’t bore him?”

“He enjoys taking down people of power. The ones who are arrogant and prey on the weak.”

“Assholes, then,” said Dean.

Anael nodded.

“It must keep him occupied at lot.”

“And he’s not stupid about it too. He doesn’t over do it. He picks his target carefully. To keep under the radar. But that doesn’t mean he’s not keeping track of the big fishes as well.”

“And you think he would know where Lucifer is,” said Dean.

“If anyone would know—anyone you could have a chance of trusting that they won’t gut you on site, that is—it’s him.”

Castiel sighed. “And how do we find this Lord? You said he moves around.”

“He does. But like I said, I’ve heard rumors. Odd things are happening to the wealthy on Optimum. That’s not far from here and that planet is rather small. If you go quickly, he’ll probably still be there.”

And that is when they met a humble person. Gorgeous and elegant too, you know. Like, he had some umph about him.

They thought so anyway.

And yes, dearies. It was yours, truly.


	9. Chez Moi

The planet where I resided at the time, Optimum, was indeed small, as Anael had told them. It was practically uninhabited. In fact, there were only three main families who lived there.

Them and the staff they absolutely depended on, because they were completely helpless like that.

I know, even if you need staff to help you around the house and everywhere else, that simple fact does not make a prick out of you. Everyone needs help. Totally agree.

The attitude one might adopt towards said staff, however, might.

Which is why I had treated myself to a holiday there.

Were they the worst I had ever came across? No. Not even close. Like not even.

They weren’t that bad actually. Just a tad full of themselves.

But enough to make me want to stick around.

It is important to note though, that Optimum was really private. Read: elitist.

And for this reason, being allowed to set foot on that planet not only cost a pretty penny, but was also rare and only occurred because all three main families had agreed to it.

But with my usual charm and tricks, I had managed to slither my way in, and this, rather smoothly, I might add.

And then I had to, of course, interact with the ass-hats.

So, I was nearly done tearing down the second family—so-to-speak, of course. I like to watch, thank you—when all the fun hit the pause button because some beggars were at the atmosphere limits and were being super aggressive about being granted access to land.

The one and a half families remaining were already to their wit’s end. The prospect of undesirables simply _considering_asking for entrance, without prior request—never mind money—was pretty much the last drop for them.

And this was why, quite inexplicably, almost like magic, the unexpected visitors were granted asylum on Optimum.

The reactions. I—

You would have thought lepers had shared their beds.

Following that, the families were pointing at each other, quite hopelessly, desperate to find the culprit (about this mess up, as well as so many others that had occurred well before my arrival on this planet), and I sat there as a guest of honor, enjoying the show and the most delicious pastries.

And that’s when Castiel and Dean crashed the party.

I’ll give them that one, because they were not who I had expected to be barging in on my hobby and ruining everything. And I certainly didn’t expect anyone to be coming for me.

If Castiel was surprise to find me there, he didn’t let it show. But then again, he’s pretty much known for his deadpan expression. It didn’t take long for Dean to understand that Castiel and I knew each other, and then he just asked, “Is this another one?” to which Castiel nodded in response, and Dean lifted his hands in the air in exasperation.

It became clear that, whatever they need to discuss, it would probably be best to have that conversation in private. Thus, with great sadness, I left the drama which was taking place before me, and brought Castiel and Dean to my home.

Yes, I rented a place there. I like my own space.

But going back to those two dorks, although it had been, like, um, _a while _since I had last seen him, I have to say, baby bro had drastically changed. I still instantly recognized him though. He was still ruggedly handsome, and that thing with his hair was still working for him. But I could tell that the years had not been kind to Castiel.

As for Dean, though I had never met him, I had certainly heard of him. Prior to the massive alert across the galaxy, of course. And I have to say, considering where he came from, I was expecting someone a little more squarish than him. So, that was a nice surprise.

Handsome, too. Of course. But, you know.

In the light of my _occupation_, even though it’s just a bit of fun, not to mention helpful by keeping the balance in the universe, I needed to keep a close eye on Venandi. Most specifically, their council. They mean well and are a great help to stop injustice throughout the galaxy. I highly respect that.

But sometimes, they can get a tad carried away. Look at the BMoL. All I’m saying is that they should truly reflect on their definition of what is harmful and helpful in this world.

Which was why I knew of Dean Winchester. One of the Prime Families of Venandi and rumored to be the runner-up in taking leadership of the whole shebang one day.

I also knew, as would anyone who would take five seconds to assess the guy, that he wanted none of it.

And given he had evidently been through the wringer, it meant good news for me, as I was fairly certain he wouldn’t start cutting me into pieces right away.

But better safe than sorry, friends.

But I thought, a good impression wouldn’t hurt, so I had kindly invited them to my place, away from the crazy families, and at a place where I definitely had the upper hand if things turned ugly for me.

Of course, that was because I still had no idea what had prompted their visit. And I should probably admit that I was a tad worried it was because of something I had done to them in the past and, um, perhaps had forgotten about.

But after a quick introduction, I was glad that it wasn’t like that at all. And what they requested of me, the location of Lucifer, was an absolute surprise.

Which made me laugh.

And by laugh, I mean, tears were coming out of my eyes so much it was ridiculous.

Because it was.

There was no _fucking _way I would ever do that, I said to them.

Not because Lucifer was my brother.

Not because he gets a pass at being the massive dick that he is.

And not because I was scared of him.

It was because I am not suicidal or stupid.

And this—being what they suggested—was suicidal and stupid.

I told them so and they weren’t very happy, as you can imagine.

“Gabriel, please,” said Castiel. “We need to know where he is. It’s important.”

We were in a nice garden with beautiful, yet not overbearing sunshine over us, and a warm breeze coming through.

“Castiel,” I said, after I took a sip of my delicious sweet drink, “you must know that asking for Lucifer is foolish. Why in the all the stars would you want to know this?”

“Do you know where Lucifer is hiding or not?”

I sighed, leaning comfortably in my soft lounging chair. These idiots, I thought, evidently weren’t making any sense, so I repeated, “Why?”

“Because it’s information we need,” said Dean with a grumpy and tired face.

“You can do better than that,” I replied. I took another swig. Darn. I still, to this day, have no idea what was in that drink. It was some kind of fruit with a kick of something else. I know I’m being super vague right now, but I swear, this is best way to describe it.

They remained silent. And exchanged awkward looks. Sigh.

I sat up, put my drink down, and rested my elbows on my knees, all serious like.

“Boys, listen. I want to help you out. I really do. But given your crazy state and, um, current statuses, telling you this information would seem to be the very opposite of helping you out. Unless you tell me why.”

“Lucifer has my brother,” said Dean grimly. And finally.

I shot a look at Castiel, at which he immediately understood my concern, and said, “We have good reason to believe Sam is alive.”

As reassuring as this was, it also raised many additional worries.

They blurted out the high points of the information. Regarding Sam. Regarding cryo. Regarding their situation.

“He’s my brother,” said Dean in a pleading voice. “I know it’s nuts, but I can’t just do nothing. And I—is that house on fire?” asked Dean, looking semi-concerned at the mansion nearby.

I turned my head quickly to look at the house of the second family. Bright green flames were spreading through the roof with a thick dark blue smoke escaping it. “They’re fine,” I said, waving my hand. “Guys, listen, Lucifer is no joke. I don’t know all the details, but I know he is well guarded. He has his little army of minions protecting his palace.”

“Palace?”

“Yes. Palace. Castle. Fortress. Whatever.”

“But—does—you know where he is, then?”

“Hold on,” I said, lifting my finger. “Before we get to that, we have other details to discuss. If you want to storm in there, you’re going to need more than just us three.”

Dean blinked. “You’ll help us?”

Meh. Why not? I mean, it appeared that my work was done for the second family. I could always come back to that third family later on. And a rescue mission to help out one poor soul in my brother’s grasp did change my view of their quest.

It was still fucking nuts though, which was why I suggested that it should be more than just us three.

“If you can find more allies, yes, I’m in. But that’s the only way. So start talking, who could help us?”

Castiel, remembering his promise to Missouri, said that if they shared Lucifer’s location with her, as well as the council of Venandi, we would most likely be sent additional support.

Which was actually really encouraging.

“You just need to tell us where it is and I’ll send out the message right now,” said Dean.

Oh, right. Ha ha. I forgot about that part.

“Here’s the thing. I know vaguely where Lucifer is.”

“_Vaguely_?” hissed Dean.

“A pretty good idea. But, better than that, I know someone who knows without a doubt where to find Lucifer.”

You can guess that they weren’t thrilled at having to reach to another person, yet fucking again, for information. Which was why I added, “This is a good thing guys. The guy I’m thinking of, he’ll want in on this. He won’t just tell us where to find Lucifer, he will most likely join us too. And given who he is and his skill set, we need him.”

“Great. Who is he?”

“He goes by the name of Crowley.”

They stared at me. And their faces were absolutely hilarious.

“Oh, COME ON!”

“Are you fucking kidding us?”

“What?”

“No, not him. We can’t,” said Dean, shaking his head.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You tell him,” said Dean, finally picking up his drink, exasperated. “I fucking can’t with all of this.

Castiel explained to me, while I was deeply trying my best not to laugh at them, how Crowley had indeed been the first to come to their aid in their adventure since the incident on Purgatory, and that he had agreed to share information regarding Lucifer. Well, even before they knew it involved Lucifer.

Whatever. You get it.

And the fact that they went through all this shit and asked countless numbers of people for help just to wind up back at square one is, I find, fucking priceless.

“Gabriel, we messed up. It’s not just that we didn’t succeed in what he sent us to do…”

“It’s like, it was a fucking disaster and we kinda ignored him ever since. I mean, we were kidnapped right afterwards too,” argued Dean. “But we also—it was weird. Stuff didn’t add up when we showed up there and—whatever, this is—it’s not a good idea.”

“Well, I am afraid it is the only option we have. Crowley knows where Lucifer is because he used to be part of his army. If there is one person you’d like to have on your side to crash his place with, he’s the one.”

Dean made a face.

“So,” I said cheerfully, “you guys will have to make a long-distance call and apologize—yes, for being rude to not have checked in—and then, you can ask for help. Again.”

“Fuck no. We’re not doing this.”

“You’re going to have to.”

Dean shook his head vehemently. “No.”

“Dean, if you want me to help you and reach Lucifer so we can save Sam, you’re going to have to.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Like twelve seconds later, Dean and Castiel were on a call with Crowley. There was a fair amount of name calling at first, but eventually, once everybody calmed down, it went pretty well. Crowley maintained that whatever Bela had told them was a lie and that she was probably just stalling. While they weren’t overly convinced about that, the fact remained that they couldn’t really change anything about that now, and they decided that for the moment, they should put that matter aside and focus on the problem with Lucifer.

Which Crowley agreed to join us, as I thought he would. All good.

Until he asked what he would get in return.

“I am so sick and tired of people asking us this,” said Dean. “Look, I get it okay? Nothing in life is free. And I wouldn’t expect it any other way. But we tried that with you already and it landed us in more than trouble than we already were.”

“Where’s my carrot, boys?” repeated Crowley.

“What do you want?” asked Castiel as Dean was about to explode.

“What do you have?”

“Nothing!” barked Dean. “Come on, you know that. Look, tell us what you want and…we’ll promise to do everything we can about it afterwards.”

“You mean after we possibly all die?”

“Well, if we all die including you, won’t really change anything if you get whatever it is you want now, does it?” said Dean, frustrated.

Silence.

“You may have a point, squirrel.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“I’ll help you morons,” he continued, ignoring Dean, “under the condition that you will all owe me a favor afterwards.”

“All?” I asked.

“Yes. All of you. And I get to decide what the favor consists of and when to collect it. And if should you perish, I still get to collect said favor from your next of kin. Deal?”

Dean rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. Castiel’s expression remained unchanged as he simply waited for Dean’s approval to Crowley’s request. Finally, Dean met Castiel’s eyes and nodded to him.

And then he stared at me.

And to my own surprise, I agreed.

“We agree,” said Castiel.

The conversation ended soon after that. Crowley cleverly decided that he would only divulge Lucifer’s location once he was get close enough to meet us halfway. As I mentioned earlier, I had a vague idea of where Lucifer was hiding, and if I was right, Crowley was indeed rather far away. No teleporters would do the trick, which meant the scenic route. And if he didn’t want to add any suspicion, he would then have to take the scenic _scenic _route.

In other words, we had a whole night to kill before Crowley would spill the beans.

There was an upside to this, however. It allowed Dean to reach out to Missouri and the council. He evidently wouldn’t be able to let them know of the location until we caught up with Crowley the next morning, but at the very least, he could send a few pleading messages to a few trusted friends.

Which would hopefully give them time to round up a fair amount of people to come and help us out.

But the whole thing had to be done discreetly, of course. Dean and Castiel were still fugitives and the last thing anyone wanted was Lucifer hearing a word of this.

After the plan and details were agreed upon, we said goodbye to our new ally and wished him good fortune in his travels.

The second this happened, Dean and Castiel were ready to brainstorm strategies and go over every detail for the whole night.

And while I appreciate masterminding stuff, I had to put my foot down to this obsession and insist that they relaxed for the night.

Being the compassionate being that I am, I pointed out to them how awful and exhausted they appeared to be. That they were in need of some shut-eye. I mean, despite the forced mini-coma that was implemented by the BMoL and the quick naps they might have caught while traveling, Dean and Castiel hadn’t had much time to rest since they had woken up on Purgatory.

Okay, technically, I gathered that Castiel wouldn’t need that much sleep. We usually don’t sleep at all. But he’s different. He doesn’t—he’s just a bit different. And the fact that they had managed to keep him under cryo sleep for that long, proved that he probably needed rest once in a while.

So, after a few protests, I shut them both up when I reminded them that we couldn’t do much strategizing until Crowley joined us anyway. As he had literally all the info.

Therefore, while Dean sent messages to all his friends, I gave Castiel a tour of the house, showed him where he could crash later on if he felt like it, and handed him a change of clothes. I am not one to tamper with anybody’s style, but I judged by the bloodstains all over his shirt that a change of clothes in the meantime—especially considering what I had in mind for the evening—wouldn’t be a bad idea. I assured him he would be able to have his outfit the next day, cleaned, before we left.

He had difficulty letting go of his coat, but he agreed.

And with his new clothes, he now looked like a run-down hippy and it was fabulous.

Which brings me to the evening.

The third family was throwing a party. I wondered for a brief second if we would have a problem given Dean and Castiel’s identities, but I knew the very limited people present would be far too self-involved to even notice.

And I was right.

And the party was rather cringe-worthy. Where Dean and Castiel were concerned, I mean.

Ugh. For the first time in days, no one was chasing them. Holding them hostage. Torturing them. They could have finally done something else, _anything _else, than just staring at each other.

The never ending and weird and soul crushing and annoying fucking stares. I swear.

They orbited, separately that was, a few people. Trying to mingle. Or trying to _look _like they were, I should say.

And they didn’t talk to each other.

Not fucking once.

They just, you know, awkwardly gazed at each other. Pretended like there was no tension whatsoever between them.

The whole fucking evening.

It was agonizing to witness.

Until finally, at some point, after Dean had passed most of the evening so-not-subtly glancing at Castiel from across the room, he headed towards the balcony where he had last seen him.

But he wasn’t there anymore.

As casually as he could, he asked if anyone had seen him.

The two people who could give him an answer coherently said, “No.”

And the one who mumbled unintelligible chatter, said—I can’t even repeat it. Let’s just say the only thing Dean understood were the words “left” and “red head.”

And after a quick scan around the room, Dean, panicking, could no longer spot the red headed woman who he had seen lurking around Castiel earlier that evening. either

“Fuck.”

Super done with the party, Dean returned to my house and grumpily gunned for his room. He pushed through the door and locked it as he groaned. Frustrated, he pulled off his jacket and threw it on the ground. He was about to take off his shirt, when he heard water splashing. He grabbed his blaster and turned abruptly.

Castiel was soaking in his tub.

“What the fuck?”

“Hello, Dean. What a nice surprise.” The tub was deep and the water was high, but Dean could still see Castiel’s tattooed bare chest. His hair was wet and dripping, and his feet were resting on the edge.

“Cas, what the fuck. This is my room.”

He frowned. “No, it’s mine.”

“No, Cas. Gabriel told me this was my room.”

“You must be mistaken. He specifically directed me to this one.”

I swear I had nothing to do with this. It’s simply a happy miracle.

And whoever made this happened, it was very tricky of them.

Annoyed, Dean sighed. He dropped his blaster on the armchair and gave Castiel an angry look.

“What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you left with the red head.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I—I thought you had.”

“I evidently did not.” Castiel scanned his face. “Were you upset that I had?”

“No,” he lied. He cleared his throat and said, “What do we do then? About the room, I mean. We’re going to share or—”

“You can have the bed. I don’t sleep much.”

Dean frowned. “Like…ever?”

“I do sleep just—you can take it,” he repeated.

“Tha—thank you.”

Dean was staring at him. For a long time. Until he remembered what Castiel was doing. And he then quickly averted his eyes.

Castiel remained emotionless. But he continued staring at Dean. “The water is still very warm. You should join me.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a ridiculously big tub. There’s enough room for us both.”

“I’m—I’m not doing that.”

Castiel smirked, tilted his head, and before sinking himself into the warm and comfortable water, he said, “Suit yourself. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Dean rolled his eyes and turned the other way. He could hear the water splashing and he tried very hard not to think about it. And failed. He slowly turned around again, and glanced at Castiel.

He was still lying in the tub, perfectly still, looking peaceful and relaxed. Castiel had his eyes closed. Steam was still coming up from the water and there was a hint of lavender in the air.

Dean swallowed.

The bath was inviting. For more than one reason.

Unable to remember precisely the last time he had had a bath, Dean decided that it wouldn’t be the worst idea after all.

You know, for hygienic purposes, of course.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was butt naked in front of the tub, gripping the edge and sliding one leg into it.

The sudden presence made Castiel open his eyes, just in time to see Dean settling at the other end of the tub, facing him. Dean kept to his side of the tub, with his hands wrapped around his legs, with his knees under his chin, as if he was trying hide himself. Castiel smirked and pushed himself further back to give Dean some room.

They both examined each other.

Dean cleared his throat. “It’s nice. The water, I mean.”

“Told you,” said Castiel.

“What—what’s in it?” he asked, lifting his hand and rubbing his fingertips together, feeling an oil-like sensation.

“I don’t know. There were a few bath products on the counter. I poured in the ones that smelled good.”

Dean nodded.

And remained silent.

“Dean? Problem?”

“It’s, um, a little tighter than I thought. The tub.”

“That’s because you’re all cramped up in your corner.” Castiel slowly slid his feet back into the water. Dean remained quiet and still, wondering what Castiel was doing, as it now seemed like there was even less room.

Castiel properly sat up and said, “Here,” sliding his hand under the water, gently reaching for one of Dean’s legs.

Dean, resolute to not utter a word, gripped the side of the tub when he felt Castiel’s fingers.

But he didn’t resist.

A few moments later, with a bit of twisting around, both of them had their legs stretched out. Quite smoothly, Castiel had managed to slid his one leg under one of Dean’s, with his toes touching the edge of Dean’s ass, while his other one was over Dean’s other one, with his ankle resting on Dean’s thigh.

Castiel sank back into the tub again, causing them to slide a bit to readjust themselves.

And now Dean was fully aware his toes were against Castiel’s ass. All he had to do was to move and things would get weird. A twitch. A cramp. A spasm.

And it was the same for Castiel’s toes and his ass.

“That’s better, no?” asked Castiel.

Dean remained silent.

“Unless, you have an even better suggestion?”

“No, that’s good for now.”

“Glad to have been of service,” he said, smiling. He leaned his head backward against the edge of the tub, shut his eyes, and let himself soak.

Dean took a deep breath and mimicked him.

And soon enough, as he grew more relaxed in the warm water—not to the mention the warm body against him—he slowly let himself sink a little deeper, until the water level nearly reached his shoulders.

Which meant that he had purposely slid himself towards Castiel. And twisted himself even more, causing their thighs to be interlocked.

And now he could definitely feel Castiel’s cock against his thigh.

Really close to his own cock.

Which absolutely fucking hard.

And Dean tried his best not to dwell too much on the matter.

And he failed.

It was a good thing because Castiel, while looking unbothered with his eyes still shut and having depicted not one reaction to Dean’s repositioning, was growing impatient by the second.

And that’s when Dean saw it. Castiel licked his lips.

Castiel opened his eyes and stared straight at Dean.

“Can I have a—one of the cloths?” asked Dean, nodding to Castiel’s right.

Castiel extended one arm and grabbed one, which was resting on the stool next to the tub. But before he handed it to Dean, he said, “If you turn around, I’ll help with your back and hair.”

Dean nodded, mainly because speaking was no longer an option available in his brain’s function.

Clumsily, Dean twisted himself as Castiel had suggested, trying not to pay attention to which body parts were brushed what in this readjustment. A fair amount of water splattered over the floor.

“Oops.”

Ha. They were just getting started.

Dean, exposing his back to Castiel, felt the wet cloth over his shoulder. Castiel then lifted it over Dean’s head, dripping warm water on him. Dean felt tingles at the sensation of water sliding down his neck and shoulders. Steam was still coming out. His hair was completely wet, and even though they both knew his back and shoulders were clean now, Castiel was still taking care of it and Dean didn’t stop him either.

Sitting in between Castiel’s legs, Dean’s hand wandered off under the water and started caressing Castiel’s thigh.

He felt fingers easing their way on his waist and slide to his stomach. Gently, Castiel pulled him closer to him. Wet fingertips from his other hand rested on his back.

And a warm kiss on his neck. Dean immediately pressed himself against Castiel’s chest, letting himself lean against him.

They both sank into the tub, causing more water to splatter on the floor.

Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s torso, keeping him against him. And rather expertly, he pulled Dean a little upward, so he could sit on his lap.

Dean gasped when he felt Castiel’s erection against his ass. He twisted his whole body, so he could look at Castiel. His ass still on Castiel’s crotch, he rested his right arm on the edge of the tub, and stuck out his right leg to not feel too cramped, causing more water to drip on the floor.

And he forgot about everything else, and began rubbing his butt against Castiel’s cock.

Castiel’s breathing was becoming heavier. He eased one hand slowly down Dean’s chest, as he rolled his hips against him, following Dean’s rhythm.

Dean felt his legs tremble as Castiel’s hand was getting closer and closer to his crotch.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

Until finally, Dean felt fingertips on the tip of his hard cock.

And okay. I’ll pause here. Now, I am not a prude. Far from it. But I get how weird it that might sound that _I_am recounting this part of the story.

But fuck, somebody needs to do it.

I could just give you a clear, yet not detailed idea of what happened and that would be it.

Like, they fucked.

But after all this, it feels kinda mean, no?

So here we go.

Castiel slowly moved his hand up and down Dean’s shaft. And then kept it to quick strokes, twisting his hand when reaching the head of his cock. Dean moaned and let his head fall on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel, feeling his heartbeat increasing, pulled Dean closer to him with his other hand around his waist, as he continued his task with attention. Loving the sounds Dean made. 

More water splashed on the floor as Dean avidly pressed his ass against him. Feeling Castiel’s hard cock. Wanting it. Deep inside him.

And then, that prospect got him a little overexcited, and the next thing he knew, Dean freaking came.

One load groan. His entire body spasmed as he disgracefully gripped the edges of the tub.

“Shit,” he said. After a brief moment, when he evened out his breathing, he said, “Fuck, Cas. I—I’m so sorry. I—fuck.”

“What are you sorry for?” he said, still kissing his neck. “I watched you. I liked it.”

“But I—I didn’t mean to…I can’t believe I just…”

“Dean?”

“What?”

“I’m not done.”

“Yeah, I—I know. That’s why I’m saying—”

“No, I’m not done with you.” Delicately, he helped Dean reposition himself, and soon enough, Dean, still on his lap, was facing him this time and had his legs wrapped around him. And the moment Castiel assessed that Dean was comfortable, he urgently kissed him, pressing his soft lips on his.

And Dean immediately opened his mouth, desperate for more.

And he got served with massive tongue action, making his knees tremble and his legs tighten around Castiel. Dean decided that breathing was an overrated concept, and continued exploring Castiel’s mouth with his tongue.

Castiel glued himself to him, his erection still against Dean’s ass, but he didn’t repeat his hips motion.

Not just yet.

In that moment, he preferred focusing on caressing Dean’s back and massaging his tongue. Swelling his lips by sucking on them. Enjoying Dean running his fingers passionately through his hair.

Letting the hunger and intensity grow again.

They slowly broke the kiss, resting against their foreheads, while catching their breaths.

Dean gazed into his eyes, feeling his heart still racing, and brushing his thumb on Castiel’s lips. Now obsessed with them. Their softness. Their taste.

Until Dean realized that this had actually been their very first kiss.

Which made him smile. He leaned in and kissed him deeply, craving more.

“Cas?”

“What?” he asked, busying himself at the corner of his mouth.

“I have a question.”

“Ask away,” he said, with his hands still caressing his back.

“When you say you don’t sleep much…Do you mean...ever?”

“I don’t really need to. Unless I get very exhausted.”

Dean smirked. “And what level of exhaustion are we talking about?”

Castiel chuckled. “A fair amount.”

“Want to get out of the tub?”

Castiel nodded and gave him a quick kiss. Still holding him, Castiel began to move his legs as if he was planning on keeping Dean wrapped around him, and somehow stand up.

He could have, actually. But Dean hadn’t realized that, so he insisted they should get out in a safer manner.

I mean, like I said, Castiel would have been good for it. But safety is always important too.

Once out of the tub, they slowly made their way to the bed, trying not to slip on the wet floor. Staring at each other, smiling. Stealing kisses. Not even bothering with towels.

Which was perhaps a good thing, because, exploring each other’s skin, they realized they stayed slick. Oil-y like. And wet. And their skin was particularly warm.

“It’s probably one of the products,” said Castiel, easing his hand on Dean’s smooth ass.

“I can’t decide if this is kind of gross or not,” said Dean. But then he wrapped his hand over Castiel’s slippery cock, and after hearing Castiel groan, he decided that this was actually fucking perfect.

Okay, so I could stop it here. What happened is super obvious. And I actually do have to hurry up with what’s left of the story.

No?

That would be super cruel, you say?

Hmmmm.

Okay then.

They both sat at the edge of the bed. After a series of sweet kisses, Dean’s mouth slowly ventured down Castiel’s neck. His chest. His stomach. And just as Dean was moving his head towards Castiel’s cock, he was stopped mid way when Castiel, smiling at him, gently leaned Dean’s head upwards and kissed him on his chin.

Soon, Castiel was swirling his tongue on Dean’s throat, and Dean tried to delicately nudge Castiel onto his back, with his other hand easing up his thigh, close to his cock.

But Castiel, amused at Dean’s persistence, smiled and shook his head.

“Cas,” Dean groaned, “I’m trying to make it up to you. For…earlier.”

Castiel let out a small laugh and kissed his jaw softly. “Do you always have to keep score, Dean?”

“What—um,” he paused briefly, confused at Castiel’s comment. “What do you mean?”

Castiel leaned his head back to look at him. “You keep track of how many times I helped you. Saved your life. You keep saying you owe me. You don’t owe me, Dean.”

Dean lowered his eyes. “Okay, but that was…”

“Different?” suggested Castiel. “How so?”

And then Dean gathered that maybe there wasn’t much difference to it, actually.

“Even so, it’s just…good manners,” said Dean.

Castiel laughed. “That it is. Very good manners. But…”

“But what?”

“While I appreciate your eagerness, and I’m certainly for sharing the _participation_,” he said, chuckling, “I don’t want you to—I don’t want you to do things or not do things, no matter what they are, because you feel like you _have _to.”

“Cas, no. That’s not—I’m not doing this out of obligation. Trust me,” he said, licking his lips. “Nobody is twisting my arm right now.”

“Good.” And then, his grin growing, he said, “So, you’ll let me do this, then?” And his hand slid on Dean’s thigh and reached his balls.

Dean whimpered and totally let Castiel do whatever wanted, trembling at his touch. Eventually though, Dean nudged him on his back again, and this time, Castiel obliged.

With his tongue and lips, Dean mapped the designs of Castiel’s tattoos. In a lingering manner. He paid attention to every little detail as his tongue swirled on Castiel’s rock hard abs. As if he wanted them imprinted in his brain.

That level of devotion to an aspect of his body, something that Castiel had never experienced to that degree before, definitely did more than just increase his heartbeat.

As his desire only deepened, Castiel motioned for Dean to lie on his stomach, and began massaging his ass. Tantalizing him with his fingers. Admiring the sight of Dean quivering at his touch.

And he took his fucking time. He didn’t make it easy for Dean. He almost wondered if he would lose him again too quickly.

But Dean held it. Like in a fucking tormenting way, as he moaned, panted, and shuddered under Castiel’s touch, but he kept himself in check. His cock was hard again, and he was determined to not repeat what had happened earlier.

And then, watching Dean melt, hearing his soft moans and seeing his reactions to his fingers inside him—fuck, he was literally biting the fucking sheets—Castiel, not able to help himself, impulsively slapped Dean’s firm ass.

Dean whimpered, arched his back and felt his hard cock twitch.

That’s pretty much when Dean was done with Castiel fucking around, and he abruptly turned on his back for them to get to it already.

Which greatly amused Castiel.

On his back, with his legs hoisted up and his knees pressed against himself, Dean swallowed hard. By pressing on the back of his thighs as firmly as he could, Castiel kept Dean’s legs spread open and held Dean’s ass lifted at the right angle.

All Castiel needed to do was to slide his cock inside him.

But Castiel simply teased him with the tip of his cock, brushing it against his hole. Panting and feeling his cock pulsating, Dean was about to jump out of his skin.

“Cas,” he said in a fucking pleading voice.

“You want it?”

He’s a little shit, isn’t he?

“Yes,” groaned Dean

And finally, with one slow, deep move, he eased himself inside Dean.

Dean froze and shut his eyes tightly. Once the message to breathe reached his brain again, he took a deep breath in and swore loudly.

“Holymotheroffuckshitfuck.”

Castiel waited a second. “Dean?”

Still whining, he said, “I—good. I’m good, just—go.”

Castiel barely thrust his hips again and Dean let out a deep moan. “Fuuuuck.” And gasped for air.

“Dean?”

“I swear I’m okay.”

“It doesn’t sound like it.”

“I am. Cas, fuck. Please, move.”

Castiel rocked into him again, not as deeply, but slowly. Dean, his eyes still closed, gripped the sheets, moaning.

“Dean, look at me. I need to know you’re okay.”

Whimpering, Dean opened his eyes and looked straight at him.

“I’m okay. You’re just—don’t stop.”

Castiel repeated his motion a few times as he carefully observed Dean, who was taking him in and biting hard on his lips, with his eyes locked on Castiel.

Castiel pushed in a little deeper, which granted him the pleasure of feeling Dean’s whole body trembling beneath him.

“Fuck. Ye—yes.”

Castiel, now satisfied that Dean was indeed enjoying himself, continued rolling his hips at a steady pace. His fingers tightened their grip on Dean’s legs, and moans were escaping him at the blissful sensation of sliding his cock into him.

He then noticed Dean was lifting his right hand towards Castiel. He opened his hand, with his palm facing Castiel.

At first, Castiel had thought Dean was signaling him to stop. Because that’s exactly what it looked like. But Dean was smiling. And his eyes were amorous. That’s when Castiel understood what Dean wanted.

Castiel returned his smile, let go of Dean’s leg and slowly brought his left hand closer to Dean’s right hand. Their fingers touched and he delicately pressed his palm against his, mirroring him. Staring at each other deeply, their fingers interlocked, and Castiel felt Dean delicately pulling him closer.

After a quick reposition, Castiel let go of Dean’s other leg and lowered himself to meet Dean’s mouth. He sucked on his bottom lip. And when he felt Dean stir beneath him, he lifted his torso, hovering over him and leaning on his hands, which were on each side of Dean.

And he made sure to not let go of Dean’s right hand, keeping their fingers interlocked.

Dean wrapped his legs around him. His free hand caressed the back of his neck. His touch was warm and surprisingly gentle.

While Castiel had had no doubts that a night with Dean, which he had imagined for nearly a decade, would have been deeply satisfying and memorable, he had not expected the level of intimacy Dean was offering him, however.

And he suddenly trembled at the thought.

As for Dean, well, he was freaking out a little. But the good kind. After all the misunderstanding. The bitching and bickering. The fucking stares and tension. He couldn’t believe this was just fucking finally happening.

And he didn’t want to fuck it up.

I mean, he too had thought about it for many years. Even despite everything.

And that’s probably because it had always been about Castiel for him. Like the freaking moment they met.

Doesn’t that warm your heart or what? I like it.

But now I feel like I totally digressed on their inner feelings, so here’s what happened next.

“Which one do you prefer?” Castiel whispered in Dean’s ear. “This?” He rocked into him, quickening his pace.

Dean’s answer was moans at every thrust and one big gasp.

“Or this?”

And Castiel slowed down, but pushed in with deep, slow thrusts.

Dean let out a loud moan, and Castiel felt Dean’s fingers tightening on his hair. His legs stirred.

“Slow it is, then,” he said, very pleased with himself.

And pursued his pace, feeling his heart racing, with every roll of his hips. He softly kissed Dean’s collarbone, while listening to him pant.

Dean was becoming restless again. And that fact was only rendering Castiel even more inflamed.

Dean kept repeating his name. And his voice languished more every time.

“Dean. I’m close. Do—if you want something else, you have to tell me.”

Dean shook his head, tightened his whole body against Castiel, and followed his rhythm.

Castiel felt Dean’s hard and sticky cock in between them.

“Dean, you sure?” he asked, out of breath.

“Don’t stop.”

Castiel gave a sharp push and felt Dean squirm beneath him. After hearing Dean let out a massive groan, Castiel made it his new mission repeat this action.

And the sounds Dean was making were resonating straight to Castiel’s cock. But they were nothing compared to when Dean yelled, “FuckinghellofVenandifuckfuckshitfucknut!”

Which, evidently, made Castiel laugh.

“Why are you laughing? Don’t stop!”

Which made Castiel laugh even more.

“Cas, fuck, please. I’m serious,” he whined.

After taking a few seconds to refocus his mind, Castiel rocked deeply into Dean.

Dean was really trying to hold it. And he did. For about a minute. Until he said, “Cas, I’m—” and before he could finish his sentence, a warm stream was felt on their stomachs, while Dean was quivering all over.

“Fuck. I—I—” Dean was mumbling, when Castiel glued his mouth on his and kissed him hard. Sucking on Dean’s tongue, Castiel quickened the pace of his thrusts and a few minutes later, as he felt Dean’s hands venture on his ass, Castiel finally let out a loud scream of ecstasy.

Lying on top Dean, as they were both catching their breaths, Castiel savored Dean’s soothing hands caressing his back.

“Feels like we’ll need another bath.”

Dean smiled. “Considering where this one led to, I don’t think it’s the solution. Unless…”

Castiel mildly hoisted himself to look at Dean properly, a smile growing on his face again. “Unless?”

“Have you been properly exerted to have a good night’s sleep?”

Castiel licked his bottom lip as he scanned Dean’s flustered face. “Dean. This was…I—” he took a deep breath, looking at him with a devouring look.

“You what?”

“Don’t you dare think this is a comment on what just happened,” he said clearly. “But I told you. It takes a lot for me to sleep. It’s just sleep. It’s not the same for me as it is for you.”

Dean nodded, pondering on the matter. “So, what I understand is we do need another bath.”

Castiel chuckled. “I see you are determined.”

“Pretty much,” he answered, smirking.

“What about you though?”

“I’m just trying to help. I maintain that sleep is important.”

“How incredibly thoughtful of you,” he said, leaning in to kiss him. Nibbling on Dean’s bottom lip, he could already feel him stirring underneath him.

“Are you even going to be able to make it to the tub?” asked Castiel, laughing.

“Absolutely. As to physically getting me there though, you might have to carry me.”

“All right then.”

And in a few quick moves, Castiel was now standing, holding Dean in his arms, with Dean’s legs locked on his waist.

As if he had lifted a freaking pillow.

“Um, why didn’t you do this before? Like when we were in the bath?”

“I tried. You didn’t let me. You said we might slip.”

“How smart and stupid of me.”

And they slowly made their way to the tub, kissing deeply still.

And after their second bath, where a lot of moaning, water splashing and loud grunting was heard, they eventually, _finally_, made it to the bed utterly worn out.

They pushed the soiled covers to the ground, grabbed a bunch of blankets, which were resting on an armchair, and covered themselves up.

Dean’s head had barely touched the pillow and his eyes were already shutting by themselves. Castiel, lying next to him, watched him falling asleep with delight. And just when he thought Dean was finally resting, he felt fingers reaching out for his hands, pulling him closer to him.

“Are you tired?” he asked, his eyes still closed.

“Very.”

“Good.”

“Sleep, Dean,” he whispered, kissing his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. I need rest too.”

And he did. He slowly fell asleep staring at a peaceful looking Dean next to him.


	10. Showdown

Now that you know in detail about Dean and Castiel’s sexcapades, let’s move on to the big showdown.

I’d like to tell you that we showed up in the most badass, dignified way ever, burst through those doors like it was nothing, and big bro Lucifer barely had time to register what was going on before he was already on the ground crying and begging.

But that’s not what happened.

In fact, it was, for the lack of a better word, fucking embarrassing.

Okay, that was two words, but you get what I’m saying.

Anyway, we met Crowley in the morning, where he hitched a ride with us near Viatoribus, just as planned.

And _just as planned_, Dean sent out the word on Lucifer’s location to the people he trusted on Venandi the moment Crowley uttered the planet Abyssus.

Which I have to hand it to Luce; he didn’t go for the most obvious one. I honestly would have guessed Infernum, because reasons.

When I shared that tidbit with Crowley, he said, “He bloody owns that one too. And Baratrum. And Gehenna. The man is bloody buying up all the real estate.”

“Oh.”

Well. That made sense.

But the point was that, according to Crowley, Lucifer was, in that precise moment, on Abyssus. And so was Sam.

And then we started brainstorming strategies and it didn’t last long. Because the truth was that there wasn’t much we could do against Lucifer. And we still had to get through his army, which would most likely not be very far off.

Remember when I said it was a stupid and suicidal idea? Yeah. I wasn’t kidding.

But the thing was that we just needed to keep him occupied long enough, until Venandi and the brigade of good righteous troop showed up.

And we did have a few tricks up our sleeves.

Like the antique blaster Crowley had given Dean and Castiel on their first meeting.

“You still have it?”

“Yes. Why?”

He turned to me and asked, “Did you bring what I mentioned to you?”

And the cute little light bulb turned on in my head and I thought, “Okay, he’s brill.”

“Why?” repeated Dean.

“It’s good thing I lent you this squirrel. After you boys left, I was visited by that pest Henriksen, and he was very rude. And he stole a few items. If it wasn’t for the fact that I already had given you this blaster, he definitely would have taken it and we would have had zero chances to pull this off. And our chances are still rather slim.”

Ain’t that a pep talk or what?

With our collective skills of smartness and mischievousness, we easily managed to get on Abyssus undetected.

Until we landed. Like the _moment_we landed.

And by landed, I mean we crashed.

It was nobody’s fault and we’re not naming anyone. And that’s that.

The good news was that it happened right by the gigantic steps of Lucifer’s stupid and over the top castle/palace/fortress (he’s not very subtle), so we didn’t have a lot of walking to do to get there.

The bad news, as you probably can imagine, was that our entrance hadn’t been as graceful or stealthy as we had planned. And we also had lost our exit strategy by crashing the ship. Which meant that unless Venandi came through, we were really fucked.

But as we made our way up the large, annoyingly long steps, we were relieved that no alarm was ringing. No army was in sight. Not even guards. Or a freaking gate. We thought, “Hey, maybe it won’t be that bad.”

Yeah, we thought that for about three whole seconds until we realized we were just a bunch of idiots for even having thought that in the first place.

That was when Lucifer’s skeevy progeny whirled in and tackled us. And I mean this in both literal senses. _Swooped_, I mean. I don’t know how Lucifer managed such a trick, considering he himself can’t even do it, but the Demonia species—his children, creation, minions—when they reach a certain maturity, they can just pouf and become smoke. Smoke that can strike us even though smoke is not corporal.

Yeah, I know. I know how it sounds, but don’t blame me for this nonsense. I’m actually very serious. I’m not making this shit up. If I was, I would certainly not say that a dark cloud could punch me in the face and yet, that’s what happened.

But I digress, so I’ll move on with the story.

So all four of us were fighting off these fuckers. Dean and Castiel, bless them, couldn’t do much, because, well, just a heads up, blasters can’t do shit against clouds.

Smoke. Whatever.

Which was an important fact that we—Castiel, Dean and I—thought would have been super nice to have been aware of prior to our arrival. When we made angry faces at Crowley, our very own Demonia friend, expressing our strong feelings, he muttered something like, “Bloody Hell,” and then turned himself into a cloud as well. Smoke. Whatever. _That_.

I know I’m saying clouds, and it makes it sound so fluffy and sweet or something. But you have to know that it’s like thick, ominous dark smoke that moves very quickly. And punches you where it counts. Can lift you up and tear you to shreds. Some could even create lightning. It didn’t electrocute you though. Maybe those were just for show. The point was that this was bullshit we didn’t want to deal with.

And when Crowley transformed before our eyes, I could tell by Castiel and Dean’s face, they thought that the motherfucker had played us.

I, on the other hand, knew better.

And I was right.

Crowley’s metamorphosis into smoke was, quite honestly, fucking grandiose. He wasn’t like those pathetic dark clouds. Not even like those who could zap lightning as intimidation. No. He was an impressive and massive red smoke, who in one go, basically swooped most of their asses right off the steps and swirled the fight away from us.

See, it does you a disservice to always expect the worst. I knew he was good. I might have been worried for half a second there, but—nah, I knew he was cool.

Anyway, while he did this, we three took care of the rest that managed to escape Crowley’s pull.

Having nearly reached the top of the steps, we took in Lucifer’s monstrous HQ before us. It looked like a castle all right. Even had three narrow towers, as Crowley had told us. They were all slightly curved. Almost looked like a pitchfork.

Luce’s really not for the subtleties.

As Dean and I were busying ourselves with fending off the swarming Demonias around us, which again, tricky (we have the cuts to prove it), Castiel took a step back and looked up high. “Where did Crowley say Sam was being held?”

“One of the towers,” said Dean, pointing at them.

The annoying smoke around us suddenly dissipated. A little too suddenly. We weren’t witless enough to think we had gotten the better of them, but we appreciated the short break to breathe.

And then, all three of us took notice of the soldiers forming rank in front of the large front door. Corporeal ones. Which probably meant they hadn’t acquired the skill to do their magic trick yet. Which meant we could finally fight back.

But before you get excited, I would like to mention that it also meant that they had acquired other skills. Like vicious raging combat.

And holding their spears, it was clear that they were ready.

I don’t want to sound like I was negative, but I felt my stomach drop and kinda almost regretted having accepted this mission.

Almost.

“Even if we take one tower each, we still have to go through all of _them_,” said Castiel, nodding in the soldiers’ direction. “And more are likely to join in. And that’s without counting Lucifer, of course.”

Isn’t he a glass half-full or what?

That being said, I knew what Castiel was getting at. I knew because I was thinking the same. And I hate that it took me this long to cave in about that.

But it did.

The day before, while Dean had been busy communicating his messages to his friends, Castiel and I had had ourselves a little chat during the house tour. He had suggested that I should use one asset that he was well aware that I possessed. An asset that, in his current condition, was temporarily unavailable for him to use. And while I had a lot of questions for him about that, I had said, “Castiel, I will help you, but don’t make me do this. No one does this anymore. And you know why. We don’t want people talking again. We want them to forget about that. To forget about us.”

“I have terrible news for you, Gabriel. No one will ever forget it,” he said. Which really sucked. And I knew he was right. “I understand how you can be hesitant,” he had continued. “Even if I had the option, I would be hesitant too. The few abilities I still possess, I had to execute them at my extreme discretion and care. But if we go after Lucifer, on his turf and against his army, we need everything we can get. Everything.”

“If I do this, it’s going to put me on the radar, and I’ve worked really hard to avoid that. If I do this, I will be exposed.”

“If you show up there, you will already be exposed. And you can pretend all you want, but I know that after everything we’ve told you, even if you could, you wouldn’t turn away from this now.”

And the little shit had been right.

“All I’m asking is that you consider it as a possibility. That’s all.”

And now, as we were all screwed to hell, I knew that moment was up. I freaking knew it would come to this the moment the word “tower” escaped Crowley’s lips. But I would have preferred not resorting to such theatrics.

Castiel looked at me with pleading eyes. “Gabriel, _you_can do it. You can reach the towers and by-pass all these soldiers. You go find Sam and get him out.”

“Um, what—how?” asked Dean.

Not that I needed to be told to get the hell out of there twice, but I still asked, “What about you guys?”

“Dean and I will deal with Lucifer. We’ll distract him while you help Sam.”

I wasn’t overly comfortable leaving those two romantic loons to try to take on Lucifer by themselves though.

“Not that I don’t have confidence in you guys, but you could really use my help. I’m relatively powerful, and I’m not even sure I could slow him down,” I said. And it was very humble of me to admit it.

Dean turned to me in super dramatic way and said, “If us three don’t make it, Sam stays here and it was all for nothing.”

And Castiel reminded me, “And you’re the only one of us who can get to Sam right now. You’re his best chance.”

Well, I wasn’t going to argue with him. I thought, “I’ll get the kid out, and hopefully by the time I get back, they’ll still be breathing.”

Distancing myself from them, I took my jacket off. “You might want to hold on to something.”

I took off my shirt as well, revealing my glorious silver breastplate. Much like Castiel’s, but mine was in mint condition. Just saying. I cherished that thing.

Dean, totally confused about everything, was looking at us like we were nuts. The soldiers were slowly advancing, cornering us.

I took a deep breath, bent my knees and said, “Here goes nothing.”

After I nodded to Castiel, he stepped in front of Dean and nudged him away from me.

And then, I majestically spread my golden and shiny wings, rose from the ground and flew straight towards the sky. I heard Dean say something. I’m going to pretend like it was something along the lines of “Wonderful!”

I whirled back, flew full speed downwards and came to halt right on top of the soldiers, who all whimpered. With a strong flap of my wings, so as to not crash and to alter my direction precipitously, the soldiers were whooshed off their feet. Only Castiel and Dean had remained standing.

Which was probably because Castiel was the only one able to sustain that force and he had firmly held on to Dean’s arm.

Knowing I had helped them with those incensed soldiers, I then charged in to the first tower, feeling the wind blowing through my hair and caressing my wings for the first time in over a century.

And I have to admit, with the dark sun shinning over my head, it was almost a blissful moment.

Just as I broke through one of the windows, I admired Crowley’s seemingly ever growing red smoke, still fighting off Lucifer’s spawn at a close distance.

I yelled out encouragement, but I think he was probably too busy to have heard me.

Once inside the tower, I had to deal with more of our smoky friends. They didn’t stick around for very long though. Making my way through a small hallway, with the broken glass of the window crunching underneath my boots, it quickly became obvious that this was the wrong tower.

I took in the heavy décor of the thick drapes, columns andostentatious paintings of himself.I mean, poor Lucy was evidently trying to compensate for something.

So the first tower wasn’t the right one. Which was a bummer.

The second tower, however, was the right one.

And there was only one window in the whole tower, and it faced the only door leading to the top room. And only one solider was guarding it.

The soldier tried as best he could, and while he had spirit, he also was pushed out of the window. Somehow.

I kicked in the door. The room was dark. No lights. No windows. No furniture or anything. Might as well have been a broom compartment. An oversized one, but you know.

The only thing present was a cryo pod glowing a greenish color with a tiny circular window on top of it.

And there he was. Sam Winchester. Sleeping.

My cryo sleeping beauty.

He looked almost peaceful.

Without further ado, I pressed on the big red button to end his cryo state.

A few alarms went off. Lights flashed because apparently whoever designs these things always needs it to be super dramatic for stuff like that.

I held my breath as I waited for the pod to finally open so I could help Sam out of there.

And then, everything stopped. As in the power went out. And everything died.

I wasn’t worried, but my heart skipped a beat.

Then the door slid open, releasing fumes as if he was coming straight out of a freezer.

I told you. Dramatic.

I leaned towards him, and since he wasn’t moving, I gently pressed my fingers on his neck to check his pulse.

There was one, but it was faint. Very faint. I rested my hand on Sam’s chest and could feel his heart beating.

He stirred and a soft hand reached mine. And he opened his eyes. And they were beautiful.

We looked at each other for what felt like an eternity.

Then he aggressively gasped for air. It was as if he had forgotten how to breathe. Shaking uncontrollably, he hastily attempted to exit his pod.

Which I delicately helped him out as best I could. The moment his feet touched the ground, his long legs gave out.

Still trembling all over, he tightly clutched onto me, trying to keep his breathing under control.

“I can’t see,” he said in a broken voice.

I held him tenderly, reassuring him that his nightmare was finished. That everything he was feeling would be temporary. That I was here with him. That he wasn’t alone.

He wrapped his arms around me, and Sam then—

Oops. You probably want to know what happened with Castiel and Dean, huh?

So, when I flew to my heroic crusade, back on the ground, Castiel and Dean watched me reach the first tower.

“Um, what? Like what the fuck was that?” said Dean, looking at Castiel in an entirely different way. “He—do—do you have those?”

“I do. Did. Still do. It’s—yes.”

“Um, I didn’t notice any of that last night. And I was pretty thorough.”

“It’s complicated.”

Dean squinted at him. “But you have…wings.”

“Yes. They look different. Mine are—but yes.”

“And you haven’t used them so far because?”

“I can’t.”

Dean frowned.

“It’s a long story, Dean. I’ll explain. Later. We, um, we still have to deal with this,” he said, pointing at the soldiers putting themselves back together.

“Shit. Right.”

Dean got his head out of the gutter and they both charged in. They hurried past the soldiers, a fair number of whom put up a fight and on whom Dean was really happy to go all fire blazing with his blaster. Castiel drew his blade, which proved to be very efficient. A mere graze on their skin made them squeal. While our blades wouldn’t do much against Lucifer, they are down right toxic to his children.

The freaking door was within their reach, but more darn smoke appeared around them. Castiel and Dean exchanged looks. Bracing themselves, Castiel twisted his blade in his hand and Dean held his blaster high, knowing full well it wouldn’t do much.

Then, a large boom was heard on their left and everyone took cover. It appeared that Crowley was getting aggravated with those amateur smoky friends, and I have no idea how he did this, but let’s just say the large red smoke crushed—yes, crushed—the dark smoke and shoved it against the castle. Taking down a big chunk of the palace with it.

Screeching screams were heard all around them, so much so that Castiel and Dean had to cover their ears, and the next thing they knew, a butt load of their opponents from the ground just whooshed away and gunned towards the red cloud.

Castiel and Dean took this opportunity to run past the last soldiers standing (Dean might have taken it upon himself to punch a few of them on his way), and they fucking finally made it to Lucifer’s dumb palace.

Much like room I had had the chance to quickly explore, standing in the luxurious foyer, they deduced that the place was extravagant. And not in a good way.

Given the enormity of the place, they worried it would take them a long time before finding Lucifer. The faster they could find him, the sooner they could keep him occupied while I rescued Sam.

But it turned out that finding Lucifer was not a hassle at all. The very first room they stepped foot in, after leaving the foyer, was Lucifer’s throne room.

Large tinted windows behind the throne gave view to a field of—well, nothing but waste and dust. Brother dear really needs to work on his imagery.

As for the room, the vaulted ceiling and large iron chandeliers added a creepy element to the dark room. Though, the tables on the side, displaying torture devices, might have had something to do with that too.

And there he was. Sitting on his throne. Wearing a white suit. Yikes.

Castiel and Dean, after glancing at each other, advanced at a slow pace towards him. And glared at him.

You know, trying to be super intimidating and ignoring the fact that they wouldn’t have much chance to do anything once Lucifer started unleashing his wrath upon them. Like, they knew the chance of them ever walking out of that room was less than slim.

And that thought became louder in their minds with each step they took.

And it was still resonating when they came to halt as Lucifer stood up.

“Castiel. Huh. Wow. I literally thought you’d be dead by now.”

“Not yet.”

“Cool. It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough.”

“Agreed,” he snarled. “To what do I owe the displeasure of your company? Don’t you have, like, major life issues to tend to? Or are you just tired and coming here was just a simpler way to end it all?”

“I’m here because you’ve done something horrendous and I’m taking it personally that you’re involved in this.”

He frowned at him. “Um, if you’re talking about the update on your outlaw status, I didn’t have anything to do with that. I certainly wouldn’t have named you James Novak. Whoever did that severely cut you some slack. Purposely done or not. The point is,” he said, waving his hands around, “I didn’t do it. I don’t like you, but I don’t hate you. We’re actually on the same boat, you and I.”

Castiel snorted. “Yeah. No.”

Which made Lucifer tilt his head and take another look at him.

“Was that attitude just now? Okay, so, what happened to you? I know it’s been ages, but, um, you’re not…you’re different,” he said, looking at him with suspicion.

“A lot happened, Lucifer. And none of that matters right now. We’re here because—”

But Lucifer cut him off with a loud groan of exasperation. “UUUUUGH. I told you. I didn’t do it. My guess would have been dear auntie Amara. But you know....”

“Fuck. That’s not why we’re here, douchebag!” barked Dean. “We’re here because you—wait,” he said briskly. “Auntie? _Auntie Amara_. What—what do you mean by that? Like, figuratively or—”

“Literally, yes.”

“WHAT?” Dean’s jaw dropped and he turned to Castiel, freaking out. As per freaking usual. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Castiel moved his eyes to the side, reflecting on the matter, and then said, “I—honestly thought I had told you about it. Didn’t I?”

“NO. No, you didn’t.”

“Huh. Well, now you know.”

Dean was staring at him with his mouth wide open. “It’s kind of an important detail, Cas.”

“Is it? Then maybe it would be a good time to remind you that you still haven’t told me why Amara is after you in the first place.”

Yeah, so, that shut him up for a second. “It’s not that important,” Dean blurted out.

“I won’t know that until you tell me though.”

“Fuck. I—it’s nothing.” He huffed in frustration. “A while back, like _a while _back, I was doing some stupid leg work for Venandi. I wound up on Tenebra, which wasn’t even where I needed to be and long story short I—um—helped her out.”

“You freed her,” Castiel specified. Because the truth was that Castiel had already had a pretty good idea of what had happened.

“It was an accident! I—I didn’t mean to. I’m not even sure how I did it! But, um, anyway, I just—when I saw what happened I, um, left.” Oh. Dean. No.

Castiel lifted an eyebrow. “You just…left?”

“Fine! I freaked out! She was getting a bit…anyway, I just said ‘No, thank you,’ and scrammed out of there as fast as I could—while I still could—but she’s been harassing me ever since!”

Castiel stared at him in exasperation.

“Dean, she thought—how many people are you married or engaged to?”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Wh—what do you mean?”

“Well, Amara is cause for interpretation. But then there’s Nick. Yeah. I know about that. And with my—” but we never got to know what he was about to say, as Castiel suddenly fired the blaster right next to Lucifer’s head in indication to not move a muscle. The _antique _blaster.

“You two looked like you needed a moment,” said Lucifer, shrugging.

“Do not move,” Castiel warned him, still aiming his weapon at him.

“Castiel, come on. You know better than to think that this little laser tag is going to kill me.”

“It won’t. But considering it is fueled up by the same stuff that ignites holy fire, it might harm you. At least.”

One, we all need to say a big thank you to Crowley for that one.

Two, I’m really sad I didn’t get to see Lucifer’s face at that realization, because I have no doubt it was priceless.

“I repeat, Castiel, why are you here bothering me? I had nothing to do with your situation. That wasn’t me.”

While Lucifer had regained his smug attitude, Castiel couldn’t help but notice that there had been a hint of annoyance in the tone of his last comment.

His blaster still held high, he took one step towards him, while Dean, beside him, was ready to charge as well.

“And as I said,” replied Dean, “we’re not here because of that. We’re here because you picked the wrong brother to kidnap.”

Now, that confused Luce for a second. Granted, they had mostly been referring to our batshit crazy family. I guess I can understand his mild puzzlement.

“What brother?”

“My brother. Sam! You fucking—we’re here because of what you did to him. Because you kidnapped him.”

Lucifer froze a moment, and then fell into a fit of laughter. “I kidnapped Sam?” And he continued laughing. Dean and Castiel exchanged nervous looks. Lucifer finally regained his composure and took a deep breath. “I have very bad news for you, Dean. It’s Dean, isn’t it? I didn’t kidnap your brother. He came to me. Willingly.”

Dean shook his head. “No.”

“Yes, he did. I didn’t have to hunt him down. Or lure him in. Or lie. Or trap him. Or blackmail him. Or control him. Or whatever it is you think I did to get him here with me. And most importantly, I did none of those things for him to stay with me either. A thing, I understand, you weren’t able to do with him.”

Dean clenched his jaw and took a step towards Lucifer, but came to halt when Castiel lifted his arm signaling him to remain where he was.

And Lucifer’s grin grew on his face. “You might want to listen to your big protector, Dean. He does have your best interest at heart. I hear it keeps getting him into severe trouble.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and just as Lucifer was taking a step forward, thundering was heard and the ground shook, so much that all three of them momentarily lost their balance. Chandeliers swung up above their heads, and some of the instruments on the tables slid to the ground.

They all turned to the large windows and watched an entire fleet manifesting itself and hovering over the field.

The black smoke aggressively swarmed around it. Some ships were even nudged over, but it was stopped quickly when the thick, rapid red smoke gushed in, dragging the dark smoke along with it. All ships dispersed themselves, some aiding Crowley and some rushing towards the palace. As they flew by the windows, most likely to reach our crashed ship, a clear “V” was discernable on the side of the ship.

The cavalry had finally arrived.

About fucking time, I am right?

And from the looks of it, Venandi had even brought friends along with them to join the party.

Dean hadn’t expected an entire fleet to show up. One ship. Maybe two. And even then.

But this? The fleet and allies? No.

While Venandi’s presence was evidently due to Dean’s communication to some of his trusted friends, the extent of their support, however, wasn’t solely due to Dean’s pleas.

The word in the air was that moments after Dean had shared Lucifer’s location that same morning, a mysterious ally, who only referred to herself as the Queen of Moondoor, had publicly released across the galaxy tangible proof that the break out of Purgatory had not been Dean’s fault and that he had been the victim of a plot against him.

On this recovered record, masked figures were shown gaining control of the cargo ship, and brutally dragging every prisoner out of their pods, with the exception of Castiel.

He, as it turned out, had been left behind after a quick scan by one of the culprits. Evidently, they had realized right away he wasn’t James Novak. And whatever it was they were after, they had not wanted to tamper with Castiel. Probably a good thing.

Only, once all the other prisoners had been taken off the ship, as well as the crew, had Dean made his appearance aboard, when he had been dragged, unconscious, all the way to that bed. Purposely.

And the only reason why they had shoved Castiel along with him, was because once they had poked around his pod, they hadn’t been able to return Castiel into his cryo state. The pod had malfunctioned. And the moment they noticed one of his arms was moving, one of them panicked and hit him with a heavy sedative.

And then, they improvised.

And left.

And while this evidence hadn’t revealed the identity of true guilty party, it certainly attested to the innocence of Dean and Castiel.

Once that was made very clear, all warrants for Dean Winchester and James Novak were lifted, and freaking everyone kind of owed them a big “I’m sorry.”

Which was why everyone had been eager to immediately come to their help. Even the BMoL.

Reluctantly. And still bitter, considering Castiel and Dean’s escape. But more on that later.

And now, as Lucifer’s army was getting slammed, and Castiel and Dean told him they were here to take Sam away from him, Lucifer reached his breaking point.

And the fighting began.

Dean and Castiel blocked his attacks as best they could. But even with the holy fire blaster, and even if they were two against one, it quickly became obvious that they couldn’t keep up with him for much longer.

The Venandi fleet flying around or not, they were getting their asses handed to them and they knew that unless something else happened soon—like in-three-seconds soon—there was no coming back for them.

There was only one way to end this guy, and they didn’t have the right weapon.

Unfortunately.

I told you earlier that when they went in, they were aware of that possibility. That it would very well be their end. And given everything that had happened to them, they believed that they had made their peace with it.

And they truly had.

At the time.

There is a big difference in how you think you feel about something prior to the event in question, and how you feel about it as it unfolds before you.

You may have this moment of hope, like, “Yay, we can do it! We’re doing it. We’re good.”

And then there’s this moment of hesitation when you realize that maybe you’re not as in the clear as you thought.

And then you have that moment of, “Shit, we’re fucked.”

This is often followed by a serene instant when you think “Okay. That’s that. Can’t really do anything about it. It’s out of my hands and I’m okay with that.”

_But then_, you may be granted a massive rush that makes you think, “But no.

I thought I was okay with it. But I’m not. And this is not how it’s going to happen and that’s just the end of that.”

And that’s what happened here with the boys.

Castiel was lying on the ground, bloody, seemingly unconscious. In a moment of desperation, Dean, who had fallen to his knees, told himself that Castiel looked like he was sleeping again.

He attempted the best he could to get himself back on his feet, but it was difficult. One side of his head felt hot and stung horribly. His right shoulder had been stabbed and his chest felt heavy from the blows he had received.

He was a mess.

And just as his eyes fell on the old blaster, which had slid across the room during their scuffle, Lucifer rushed towards him, grabbed him by the neck and hoisted him high.

Dean’s feet were no longer touching the ground and it didn’t matter how much he tried to free himself from Lucifer’s grip, it wasn’t working.

His lungs were on fire and his eyes were suddenly heavy.

Meanwhile, high up in that second tow—yes! Yes, _meanwhile_. I need to recount this part as well. I’m coming back to them in a moment.

But, _meanwhile_, high up in that second tower, once Sam appeared to be more solid on his legs, we carefully reached the window. With one flap of my wings, I cleared the broken glass off his path, and firmly holding on to each other, we finally exited that wretched tower.

The moment we took flight, I felt Sam tremble and tighten his grip even more. At first, I thought it was the flight itself that worried him, which would have been understandable for anybody unaccustomed with flying. Even on their good day.

But as we were moving higher and higher, he buried his face in my neck.

That’s when I understood. The brightness of the sun was too much for him. After being cooped up in that pod, dark room and who knows where else, direct sunlight was painful to him. Changing my angle, shielding him from the sun as much as I could, I immediately set off to one of the ships, where I knew he would not only be more comfortable, but also finally be safe.

Dodging some of the black smoke circulating around us, I skirted the front of the ship, signaling to them that we needed shelter asap. Not long after, I noticed a hatch opening up on top.

Finally aboard the ship, away from additional harm, the moment my feet touched the ground, many people rushed towards us, eager to help Sam.

He was immediately helped onto a stretcher. I answered every question the medics had for me about his condition and how I had found him.

They also questioned Sam, but he remained silent. Still. With his eyes shut.

And holding on to my hand.

And that’s when the nervous stares a lot of people were giving me came to my attention. My wings were no longer stretched out and visible, but evidently, my secret was out. Which wouldn’t have been that much of a big deal until I noticed the emblem on everybody’s shirt, coat and uniform.

A large “K.”

And that’s when I thought, “Fuck.”

Yup. I had stepped into the one fucking ship the BMoL had sent for us.

I began to panic a little. Not only for myself, but for Sam because he was, after all, a cryo patient.

A cryo patient who had suffered questionable treatment. A little detail that I knew the BMoL would love very much to examine more deeply given their expertise.

So far, however, Sam hadn’t been the submissive, empty shell Dean and Castiel had told me about. Which was a huge relief.

And while it made me nervous, I had to admit that the BMoL hadn’t depicted anything else but professionalism and attentive care to him.

Which made the choice I had to make even harder. I was not comfortable leaving him there, but I also knew that Castiel and Dean were probably getting their asses kicked, and that my help would be more than welcomed.

The choice was made for me, however, when the entire ship shook after being hit by something.

“Incoming!” yelled someone frantically, and everyone held on to something as the ship took another hit.

I leaned towards Sam. “I have to help out. Are you okay if I leave?” He squeezed my hand, but remained quiet. “I’ll come back. And I’ll bring Dean with me.”

His grip tightened. “Dean’s here?”

“Yes. Of course. He’s the one who brought me here to help you. And now I have to help him.”

“Go. Go help Dean, please.”

“I will.”

And he let go of my hand.

That’s when I turned to everyone around us, medics or not, and I yelled, “I’m leaving him in your care while I go help the rest. If I see anything wrong with him, if one fucking hair from his magnificent head is out of place when I come back, I’ll burn your eyes out.”

And exited through the hatch and rushed to the palace, tackling down every dark smoke coming my way.

So, back to Lucifer’s dramatization.

Dean’s feet were no longer touching the ground and it didn’t matter how much he tried to free himself from Lucifer’s grip, it wasn’t working.

His lungs were on fire, and his eyes were suddenly heavy.

And then Lucifer loosened his grip, letting Dean fall to his knees, as he coughed heartily.

Castiel had stabbed Lucifer in his lower back with his blade.

And while it evidently hadn’t killed him, the fact that he was screaming his head off meant that he had, at the very least, harmed him.

Confused as to what had just happened, Dean lifted his eyes and noticed that Lucifer and Castiel were fighting each other.

Castiel was pushed against the wall, and this so jarringly that the blow had left an actual dent in the wall. Dean held his breath and a faint “No,” died in his throat when he saw Castiel crushed.

But then, something unexpected happened. It appeared that, while his earlier beating had definitely taken its toll on him, Castiel still remained strong. His eyes glowed, and with one quick move, he swung his blade and cut Lucifer’s throat.

The wound hadn’t been fatal, however. In fact, Lucifer wasn’t even bleeding.

But a bright pale vapor came gushing out through the wound and Castiel inhaled it.

Dean, having no fucking clue what the hell was going on, stared at the scene in awe and terror.

The moment Castiel had inhaled it all, his eyes became brighter and a flashing light glowed strongly around him, forcing Dean to divert his eyes for a moment.

“You can’t! You’ll—” started saying Lucifer, but Castiel needed only to simply grab him by the wrist, and Lucifer screamed and fell on his knees in pain.

“You can’t keep it. It’s not yours,” he said.

“I’m not planning on keeping it. I simply wanted to slow you down,” Castiel said. “Looks like I’ve done just that. So now, we finally can stop you all together. For good.”

He lifted his blade once more and just as he was about to stab him one last time, right through his heart, Lucifer, in a last plea, yelled, “Wait! I can help you. I can help you with yours. With your grace.”

Which made Castiel stop. Still holding a firm grip on Lucifer’s wrist, and knowing he couldn’t possibly go anywhere now, he shot a quick look at Dean.

Dean was carefully returning his focus on them, now that the brightness had dimmed. Castiel, his blade still slightly dabbing on Lucifer’s chest, waited for Dean’s input.

“Talk,” Dean said.

Lucifer stayed silent.

“You heard him,” said Castiel.

“Give it back first.”

“Not happening. I’m not giving you your grace back whether you speak or not.”

“Give it back!”

“Goodbye, Lucifer,” hissed Castiel, pressing the point of his blade on his chest.

“Metatron!” yelled Lucifer desperately.

Castiel froze and stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Metatron has your grace,” said Lucifer.

“He doesn’t. He used it for his stunt.”

“He didn’t. He—he didn’t use it all. He only required a smidge. It was just to make you think he had. But he didn’t use it all.”

Castiel held his stare.

“I have a good idea where he keeps it,” said Lucifer.

“_A good idea_. That’s not very convincing.”

“Fine if—if it’s not there, I’ll—I’ll help you out. Just, just give me back my—”

“No,” said Castiel, and just as he was about to push the blade through, Dean, who had managed to slowly stand up and reach his side, gently held his wrist to stop him.

“Don’t kill him.”

Castiel frowned at him.

“We might need him,” argued Dean.

Lucifer nodded. “You do. You need me.”

“Dean, he’s lying. He’s desperate.”

“Probably,” he said sighing, holding his painful arm. “But what if he isn’t? He doesn’t have his grace—or whatever, so he can’t do anything now. Right? We can contain him.”

Castiel swallowed and kept looking between Lucifer and Dean. “What about Sam? If something happens and _he_,” he said, looking at Lucifer with such discontent, “gets out, Sam will never be safe.”

“We’ll make sure that he doesn’t. Besides, if anyone should decide what to do with him, it should be Sam.”

Lucifer started laughing. “Um, sorry to interrupt your moment. That was quite something. But no way Sammy does anything to me. He _wuves _me way too much for that.”

“Watch your mouth,” growled Dean.

“Uncomfortable, Dean? About the things your brother might have done during his pleasant sojourn here with me? Do you want me to tell you?”

“I know enough, thanks.”

“Do you? How?”

“I—I just do. Doesn’t matter. You brainwashed him and ensl—whatever.”

And Lucifer smiled. “Oh. Someone got hold of some footage, didn’t you? That’s why you think he’s brainwashed? Let me tell you something. First off, far more happened than that footage. And second, my influence wasn’t that coercive. It took…nothing, really. What if I told you that state—the in between condition of those cryo sleep patients—it simply reflects your true self. Ever thought of that? While Sammy did what I asked of him, he didn’t do everything. And not necessarily how I wanted it. Meaning, _he _decided. That was his choice.”

Dean grabbed him by the collar, “I know you’re lying. And if you don’t shut up, I’ll change my mind and I won’t have a problem with Cas wasting you.”

Lucifer, furious, turned his eyes on Castiel and repeated, “I’m not lying about Metatron. You know I’m right. This is exactly the kind of cunning move he would do. And you would know better than anyone.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “That is true.” He tightened his grip on Lucifer. “Just like I know you most likely are not telling me everything, either,” and he twirled his blade and knocked him on his head with it, rendering him unconscious.

“I believe Venandi has a new prisoner,” said Castiel, smiling.

But he lost his balance, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Cas, you okay? What’s wrong? What is happening?”

Castiel hurried towards the throne, grabbed the bottle of liquor resting next to it, opened it and emptied its contents on the floor. What a waste.

Opening his mouth, he then rejected Lucifer’s grace into it and sealed the bottle.

“Cas?”

“Lucifer’s grace. He won’t be able to harm anyone anymore. Well, he’ll still be a pain in the ass, but not to this scale.” Castiel walked over to Dean and handed him the bottle. Dean observed the glowing vapor. “Can’t you use it? Like you were just now?”

“I shouldn’t. As it’s not mine. It won’t be a permanent solution. My body will either reject it. Or the grace itself will dissipate.”

Dean observed him.

“So this is how you get your abilities? Your grace?”

Castiel nodded.

“I—but the way Lucifer said is that—”

Castiel lowered his eyes a moment. “Metatron stole my grace to succeed with his scheme. I’m not sure how, but a very faint portion of it remained within me. It took so long to manifest itself after he had taken it, that I’m not even sure if it was just a tiny part that had escaped him or that he had left it there on purpose. After all, with no grace left, it would have facilitated me being undetectable. Anyway, this is—we can discuss this later. The important part is that, we slowed Lucifer down, Dean. We got him.”

“But—”

“Holy crap, how the hell did you guys managed this?” I said, as I flew in.

Dean’s eyes went wide. “What about Sam? Where is he? Is—”

“Relax your roll, Dean! He’s fine. I found him and he is being tended to aboard a ship.”

I didn’t mention which one. But that was okay because I had meant my threats earlier.

We all stood in front of Lucifer, looking at him lying on the floor.

“So how did you do this?” I asked again.

Dean showed me the bottle.

“Oh. That’s a dirty one. I like it. So where is Venandi going to store this?”

Dean lowered his eyes and thought for a moment. And then, quite unexpectedly, handed me the bottle.

“You keep it. You hide it somewhere safe.”

“What?”

Yeah, I really didn’t see that one coming.

“Why?” I asked.

“I—I’m not even sure I fully get what this is, but whatever it is, I know it’s really powerful. I don’t want anyone else getting their hands on this.”

I have to admit, I was incredibly impressed by his wisdom.

Because he was right. That was a dangerous item to have lying around. Which was why I wasn’t super keen on having it.

“Doesn’t Venandi have vaults designed for stuff like that?” I asked.

Dean pursed his lips and I shot a glance at Castiel, weighing my question.

“You don’t trust them,” said Castiel.

“I do,” said Dean. “But this is—this is something else. Capturing and holding Lucifer accountable for what he did to Sam is one thing, but this…I don’t think Venandi has the right to have this in their possession. And honestly, considering what could result from this, I’ll sleep better at night if I know it’s hidden and nobody knows where it is.”

“And why are you giving me this task? Why not your boyfriend?” I said, nodding to Castiel.

One of them was slightly uncomfortable. I don’t even need to tell you which one.

“I’m still me, remember,” said Castiel. “I have a lot to answer for the moment I step out of this palace. I won’t be able to carry this around discreetly if they—but you can hide it, Gabriel.”

I wasn’t super thrilled at the prospect of carrying this bomb with me.

But like I said, Dean-o had a point. And Castiel too.

“How are you going to explain subduing him though?” I said, pointing at Lucifer. “Or explain what happened to his grace when Luce is going to come to and start bitching about his grace?”

“What grace?” asked Castiel.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Guys,” I said, “I know it’s not common knowledge, but some old school scholars will know something doesn’t add up.”

“And that will be a problem for another time,” said Dean. “So we’re clear?”

I took a deep breath, looking at Lucifer’s grace, and nodded.

“Great. Now, help us tie him up and drag him out of here so we can get out of this creepy place already.”

The fleet had succeeded in decimating most of Lucifer’s army. But many soldiers had managed to survive when they flew the coup, out of nowhere.

Almost as if they had all simultaneously lost faith in their leader. Or something.

As we kept repeating to everyone who would question us, the whole thing remained mysterious.

Lucifer was handed over to Commander Mills.

Crowley, who remained relatively unharmed, boarded the BMoL ship. Right after he reminded us of our promises.

Like we would have forgot. But, fair.

The BMoL graciously returned Sam to the care of Venandi.

Not going to lie, I enjoyed the few anxious agents when they handed us Sam back, the moment they caught sight of me.

“He’s unharmed,” one of them said.

And he was.

All four of us hitched a ride aboard the Roadhouse02, where Castiel and Dean were being fussed over by medics and Sam was sent to the infirmary for observation.

Where I stayed with him, holding his hand.


	11. A Slap on the Wrist

With both Winchester boys innocent (so-to-speak), safe and sound, and my big bad bro finally given the time out he needed, that was a pretty good win for Venandi.

But because the universe is what it is, there was also a bunch of grumps and jelly people who held grudges and just decided that they didn’t like the Winchesters, and because of that, they bitched to the customer service.

Which complicated the welcome home parade.

Considering where he was found, and that he had been missing for a big long while, and that nasty rumors about him had been circulating since even before his disappearance, and that I’m not even at the part where a certain footage got very public, a lot of stupid people pointed their finger at Sam and were left uneasy about his “release.”

Like they wanted him committed, locked up, and—

I’m just going to stop right there. Because just thinking about it—ugh.

Therefore, after a lot of pointless discussion, the council of Venandi and the BMoL advised that, for the time being, Sam should not be allowed to immediately return home. Not just yet. Just to give the dumb people time to settle down. If you ask me, that’s just enabling them, but apparently I don’t make the rules.

As for Dean, well, he had a few oopsies to deal with too. His reputation had already been a mild headache for Venandi, and that was before that whole stupid Purgatory misunderstanding. He had done a few mistakes in the past, which had warranted him to be benched quite a lot of times already. There was also his issue with Amara. Technically speaking, she was just an annoyance—not a threat. So far.

But it was definitely a big stain on his record. Which he would have to remedy at some point.

And then we have the whole ordeal about Purgatory. And the matter regarding the missing prisoners. And crew.

While they couldn’t blame the incident on Dean (or Castiel) anymore, many people still had reservations about him. To put it mildly.

It probably didn’t help that he had been labeled a criminal throughout the galaxy, even if it had only been for a brief time and had been revoked afterwards.

It probably didn’t help his case that they had also left a path of destruction behind them.

They had stolen Henriksen’s ship. Been directly involved in a murder. Escaped the BMoL. And committed a robbery and crashed a private party. Yeah, that last one was a great offence, apparently.

Dean, as a citizen of Venandi—and a member of the Prime Families—had a lot to answer for.

Therefore, an agreement came to pass between Leader Singer and Dr. Hess, the representative of the BMoL, who demanded repercussion for the loss of their precious cargo.

Basically, Dean was given the super awesome and annoying as shit task to track down all of the 327 prisoners and bring them back to them.

Yeah. And now I just realized that I forgot to mention something.

See, after the Queen of Moondoor released her recovered footage of the attack of Purgatory, thus helping out Dean and Castiel with their rep, it actually left the BMoL with a lot more questions.

And I don’t just mean about who was indeed responsible for this mess.

Apparently, since the incident, everywhere in the galaxy, people reported _sightings _of these said missing prisoners. Like, freaking everywhere. Walking around. Free. And some were already causing havoc.

Nothing about the crew though. Which doesn’t sound good for them.

But the point was that, like I said, a lot of things didn’t add up, and now they had another crisis to deal with in relation to that problem.

And retrieving these criminals was now a top priority.

But they were also bitter and wanted Dean to be punished, so here we are.

And Dean, because the last fucking thing that he wanted was to sit down on a council and discuss politics and all that bureaucratic bullshit, said, “Okay.”

He made sure to add one condition, however: that Castiel would be aiding him in his task.

Which prompted a lot of people from the council of Venandi (and the BMoL) to lift their eyebrows at him.

First off, Castiel was still, technically speaking, a prisoner of Purgatory. So, bad thing.

And it didn’t take long for the people of Venandi to realize he was also their escaped convict. The one who had magically eluded his incarceration in Carcerem. The one they had been hush-hush about, because his escape had been a massive embarrassment to them. Bad thing again.

And then, there was the issue of his true identity. Bringing along with him the possibility that some of us—the ones still being grudgingly stupid, evidently—might be gunning for him at any moment. Which made everyone nervous around him. Which was really fucking bad.

So, Venandi, to avoid this nightmare, wanted to return Castiel under cryo sleep, under the charge of the BMoL, for the safety of everyone, even supposedly his own.

So those bullshitters claimed.

And that’s when Dean said, “Ha, ha, no.” I’m being very polite here, because this is not the language he used.

It took a lot of convincing and additional bullshit agreements, such as issuing Castiel an accurate tag to keep tabs on him, but eventually the BMoL and Venandi agreed to Dean’s demands. They didn’t care how they did it, as long as Dean tracked down all of the prisoners and brought them back in the end.

Which also meant Castiel. As he was one of those 327 prisoners.

A detail they tried to not think too much about. Dean was simply hoping it would buy them time to find an alternative to Castiel’s situation.

The council, feeling a tad harsh on Dean, informed him that he could pick a team of his choice to assist them.

But Dean kindly refused.

He wasn’t ready to trust that many people around Castiel.

Not to mention that he obviously wanted him to himself.

Thus, aboard the Impala67C, which had been fetched back from Sacramentum by Venandi officers, Castiel and Dean set off to their first destination, Mordices, where three sightings had been reported.

Dean was examining the list of the prisoners on the monitor, while Castiel, wearing his breastplate and trench coat, was studying the witness accounts more closely.

“How do you feel about this whole set up?” asked Dean.

“You mean the fact that we are hunting down people to be put back in cryo sleep, which we now know is a lot more complicated than a long nap? Or that we are literally doing their leg work even though we didn’t do anything?”

“Both. And—”

Castiel turned to him. “And what?”

“And you. What they—what’s going to happen once…”

“I’m the last prisoner you will have left to bring back?”

Dean swallowed. “I was thinking that maybe we could check out Lucifer’s claim. About Metatron still having your grace.”

Castiel, smiling, shook his head. “Dean, no.”

“But if you had your grace back, maybe then, they wouldn’t be able to—”

“Put me down? ”

Dean lowered his eyes.

“I just want to help you.”

“You have. You are. Look, I—I’m not in cryo sleep yet. Maybe—maybe by the time we finish the job, they’ll be more lenient towards another alternative. I’m not saying they’ll let me go entirely, but maybe cryo will be put off the table. And maybe we will figure something out about my grace too. But in the meantime, I don’t really mind not having my grace.”

“Really?”

“It would attract a lot of attention from my siblings if I had my grace again. That’s how I managed to stay low-key for so long. And I think I already have more attention than I want.”

Dean nodded, looking at the stars in front of them.

“Beside, there’s really only one person I desire that kind of attention from,” he said smirking.

Fuck, smooth.

A grin grew on Dean’s face.

An alert popped up on the monitor, indicating the BMoL had sent them additional information regarding the prisoners.

Dean pursed his lips, scrolling down the list of prisoners. He turned his head, thinking.

“I—I can’t believe we have to do this.” And then, after a short pause, he said, adopting a more cheerful tone, “You know, maybe we could just leave and like…not come back.”

“Missing your outlaw status already?” said Castiel, amused.

“No. But, you know…”

“As much as I would love nothing more than to disappear with you, I have a tag, Dean. They’ll know where I’ll be.”

“I hear there’s ways around that, _James_.”

Castiel chuckled.

“I like how they just made a big deal about changing your tag, but, like, made sure to not mention it was their fuck up in the first place.”

“Well, that would have meant incompetence on their part and they are very proud people.”

“Seriously though,” said Dean, adopting a serious tone. “I—I would. If it comes to this, not coming back…I’m okay with it.”

Castiel smiled kindly. “What about Sam?”

Dean lowered his eyes.

“I’m sure he’d miss you,” said Castiel. “I know you would miss him. It wouldn’t be fair to you, Dean.”

“Just—don’t say no. Just think about it. As a last _last _resort.”

Castiel gazed at him tenderly for a brief moment, and nodded. “Okay. I’m not saying no.”

“Good because I am not handing you over to them. And that’s that.”

Castiel slid himself next to him and rested his hand on his cheek. “Then I guess I’ll be okay because I know how persistent you can be,” said Castiel, teasing him.

“That’s right. And don’t you forget it.”

And he gave him a warm, soft kiss. One of many in the following years to come.

And as for Sam, well, no worries. I gave him the very generous offer to stick around with me.

Not on Optimum. Ugh.

But I’m not going to say where. It’s my safe place. And it shall only remain such if I keep it a secret.

And Sam never breathed a word of it. Even after we left.

He readjusted. He grew strong again. Like his old self. Sleep was a bit of a problem for a while though. But that’s not important right now.

What’s important is that he was safe. He was a happy jolly bean. And absolutely nobody bothered him.

And he was just happy to rest.

With me.

We did a lot of resting. Together. Me and my cryo sleeping beauty.


	12. The Story

“So? What did you think?” I asked.

Sam, who was resting the back of his head on my lap, as I was fondling his long beautiful hair, smiled at me.

“Well, I certainly liked the part where the oh-so-humble Gabe met Sam. Especially how caring he was.”

“That’s what happened.”

“I also thought Cas and Dean’s robbery was entertaining.”

“I liked that part too.”

“But there are a few discrepancies. And stuff that I’m having difficulty buying,” he said, amused.

“Is that so?” I said, feigning insult. “Like what?”

“I don’t buy for one second that Dean, my brother, said any of the cheesy stuff to Cas.”

“No? Too much?”

“No, I mean, it’s not enough.”

My mischievous smile grew. “Noted. I’ll make sure to add more next time,” I said, continuing running my finger through his hair. “What else?”

“How did you manage to get me out of cryo? Had you ever operated one of those pods before?”

“They are very straight forward, Sam.”

“Actually, they are not.”

“What?”

“I read about it. It’s actually very delicate to operate. It’s not just pushing one button. And you have to make sure the vitals are right and—”

“I literally pushed one button and you woke up. That’s it.”

Sam shook his head, laughing. “Really?”

“I swear. I wouldn’t lie.”

“What about the ship? Dean said you crashed the ship.”

“I did no such thing. And not that I want to point fingers, but there might be a reason why Dean said I was the one who crashed it.”

Sam held down his grin.

“Any more questions?”

He lifted his stunning eyes upwards, thinking, and then sat up. “Yes, what’s the deal with the handprint?”

“Oh, that. They’re married.”

“What?” said Sam, shocked.

“Well, not really. Yes. It’s complicated.”

“What do you mean? And does Dean know?”

“Probably not. I certainly didn’t tell him,” I said, grinning.

“Why not? Gabe!”

“It’s way funnier that way. Anyway, like I said, it doesn’t really count. Ish. Depends where you’re from.”

Sam stared at me for a second and then said, “Wait. Is that why that guy Nick was super pissed?”

“Fuck, you’re smart. Yes, that’s exactly why.”

“And Dean really doesn’t know?”

“It’s for his own good.”

“Gabe, he should know.”

“I’m not telling him. How about his husband tells him?”

“Huh. Might have a point there.”

“So?” I said, leaning towards him. “Everything answered?”

“Um, no.”

“What? Like what?”

“So many things. We still don’t know who was responsible for Cas and Dean’s thing on Purgatory.”

“Meh. That detail is not important for now.”

“Um, I think Cas and Dean would disagree,” chuckled Sam.

“I don’t know. If none of it had happened, Cas would still be in cryo. And Dean would still be in trouble and searching for you. And _that_’s the important part of the story.”

And I maintained what I had said at the beginning.

This was about, first and foremost, two idiots in love.

The End.

“Wait! What happened on Optimum? And what about—”

“The end, Sam.” I said, laughing as I kissed his jaw.

“Your promise to Crowley?”

I leaned my head backwards a bit, looking at him for a moment, while he waited for my answer. “That’s a story for another time,” I whispered.

The End.

(Of Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my fourth fanfic. I want to thank the mods of the Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2019 for organizing this. It was awesome and I had a lot of fun writing this one. You're all awesome.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](https://thefandomsinhalor.tumblr.com) !!! Where I obsess about spn and other shows!  
As always, thank you to [Danica_Dust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danica_Dust/works) !! You’re awesome! Thank you for your help and everything!  
And thank you to Landrala who is always supportive as well!  

> 
> Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!!


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